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THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY 


*«./'^*»'> 


BY   Q 

{A.T.^UILLER- COUCH 


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William  Waldorf  Astor  .  Valentino:  An  Historical  Romance 


Arlo  Bates 
h.  h.  boyesen 
Mrs.  Burnett 


G.  W.  Cable 
Edith  Carpenter    . 
Edward  Eggleston 
Harold  Frederic 
Robert  Grant  . 
Marion  Harland     . 
Joel  Chandler  Harris 
Julian  Hawthorne 
J.  G.  Holland 


Judith 


A  Wheel  of  Fire 

Falconberg 

That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's 

.  Vagabondia:  A  Love  Storv 

John  March, Southerner 

Your  Money  or  Your  Life 

.The Circuit  Rider 

.   The  Lawton  Girl 

.    Face  to  Face 

A  Chronicle  of  Old  Virginia 

Free  Joe  and  Other  Sketches 

.  A  Fool  of  Nature 

Sevenoaks:  A  Story  of  To-Day 

The  Bay  Path:  A  Tale  of  Colonial  Life 

Arthur  Bonnicastle:  An  American  Story 

....         Miss  Gilbert's  Career 

Nicholas  Minturn 

Com'r  J.  D.  J.  Kelley A  Desperate  Chance 

G.  P.  Lathrop An  Echo  of  Passion 

Julia  Magruder Across  the  Chasm 

Brander  Matthews The  Last  Meeting 

Donald  G.  Mitchell Dream  Life 

"  "  ....      Reveries  of  a  Bachelor 

Howard  Pyle  Within  the  Capes 

"  Q "  (A.  T.  Quiller-Couch)        .       .       .        The  Splendid  Spur 
"  '  "  ...       The  Delectable  Duchy 

R.  L.  Stevenson The  Ebb-Tide 

"  "  Treasure  Island 

"  "  The  Wrong  Box 

F.  J.  Stimson Guerndale 

Frank  R.  Stockton Rudder  Grange 

"  " The  Lady  or  the  Tiger 


THE 

DELECTABLE  DUCHY 


STORIES  STUDIES  AND 
SKETCHES 


BY 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK   1899 


Copyright,  1893,  by 
MACMILLAN   AND   CO. 

COPYRiqHT,  1898,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


MANHATTAN  PRESS 

474  W.  BROADWAY 

NEW  YORK 


College 
Library 

PR 

5114 

D37 


ALFKED  PAKSONS 


/ 


CONTENTS 


PASS 

Prologue     1 

The  Spinstek's  Mating ^11 

Daphnis 23 

When  the  Sap  rose 35 

The  Paupers 43 

Cuckoo  Valley  Eailwat 61 

The  Conspiracy  aboard  the  "Midas"  .        .        .-71 

Legends  of  St.  Piran. 

I.    St.  Piran :  the  Millstone      ....  85 

II.   St.  Piran :  the  Visitation         ....  93 

In  the  Train. 

I.    Punch's  Understudy    .        .       ' .        .        .  107 

II.   A  Corrected  Contempt 117 

WooN  Gate 127 

From  a  Cottage  in  Gantick. 

I.   The  Mourner's  Horse 137 

II.   Silhouettes 153 

The  Drawn  Blind 163 

Vii 


vm  CONTENTS 

PASB 

A  Golden  Weddino 175 

School  Friends 186 

Parents  and  Children. 

I.   The  Family  Bible         .....  196 

II.   Boanerges 206 

Two  Monuments 213 

Ego-Stealing 223 

Sbven-an'-Six 233 

The  Regent's  Wager 243 

Love  of  Naomi 255 

The  Prince  of  Abyssinia's  Post-bag. 

I.    An  Interruption 301 

II.   The  Great  Fire  on  Freethy's  Quay      .        .  311 


THE   DELECTABLE   DUCHY 


PROLOGUE. 

A  WEEK  ago,  my  friend  the  Journalist  wrote 
to  remind  me  that  once  v/pon  a  time  I  had 
offered  him  a  hed  in  my  cottage  at  Troy  and 
promised  to  show  him  the  beauties  of  the  place. 
He  was  about  {he  said)  to  give  himself  a  fort- 
night's holiday,  and  had  some  notion  of  using 
that  time  to  learn  what  Cornwall  was  like.  He 
could  spare  but  one  day  for  Troy,  and  ha/rdVy 
looked  to  exhaust  its  attractions  j  nevertheless, 
if  my  promise  held  good  ....  Hy  anticipa- 
tion he  spoke  of  my  home  as  a  "  nook."  Its 
windows  look  down  upon  a  harbour,  wherein, 
day  by  day,  vessels  of  every  nation  and  men 
of  large  experience  a/re  for  ever  going  and  com- 
ing,'  and  beyond  the  harbour,  upon  leagues  of 
open  sea,  highway  of  the  vastest  traffic  in  the 
world:  whereas  frotn  his  own  far  more  expen- 
sive house  my  friend  sees  only  a  dirty  laurel- 

1 


2  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCRT. 

hush,  a  high  green  fence,  and  the  upper  half  of 
a  svhwfbam,  lamp  post.  Yet  he  is  convinced 
that  I  dwell  in  a  nooh. 

I  amjswered  his  letter,  warmly  repeating  the 
invitation  /  and  last  week  he  arrived.  The 
change  had  bronzed  his  face,  and  from  his  talk 
I  Ua/rnt  that  he  had  already  seen  half  the 
Duchy,  in  seven  days.  Yet  he  had  heen  un- 
reasonably delayed  in  at  least  a  dozen  places, 
am^d  used  the  strongest  language  about  ''bus  amd 
coach  communication,  local  trains,  misleading 
sign-posts,  and^  the  like.  Our  scenery  enrapt- 
ured him  —  every  aspect  of  it.  He  had  tra/o- 
elled  up  the  Tamar  to  Launceston,  crossed  the 
moors,  climhvng  Roughtor  and  Brown  Willy 
on  his  way,  plunged  down  towards  Camelford, 
which  he  appeared  to  have  reached  hy  fol- 
lowing two  valleys  sim,ultaneously,  coached  to 
Boscastle,  walked  to  Tintagel,  climhed  up  to 
Zither's  Castle,  diverged  inland  to  St.  Nectam!s 
Kieve,  dri/ven  on  to  Bedruthan  Steps,  Mawgam,, 
the  Yale  of  Lanherne,  Newguay,  taken  a  train 
thence  to  Truro,  a  stea/mer  from  Truro  to  Fal- 
mouth, crossed  the  ferry  to  St.  Ma/wes,  walked 
up  the  coast  to  Mevagissey,  dri/ven  from  Meva- 
gissey  to  St.  Austell,  and  at  St.  Austell  taken 


PROLOGUE.  3 

(mother  tra/m  for  Troy.  This  brought  half 
his  holida/y  to  a  close :  the  remaining  half  he 
meant  to  devote  to  the  Mining  District,  St. 
loes,  the  Land's  End,  St.  MichaeVs  Mount,  the 
Lizard,  and  perhaps  the  Scilly  Isles. 

Then  I  hegan  to  feel  that  I  lived  in  a  nook, 
and  to  wonder  how  I  could  spin  out  its  at- 
tractions to  cover  a  whole  da/y :  for  I  could 
not  hea/r  to  think  of  his  departing  with  secret 
regret  for  his  la/oished  time.  In  a  flash  I  saw 
the  truth  ^  that  my  love  for  this  spot  is  built 
up  of  numberless  trivialities,  of  small  memories 
all  incommunicable,  or  ridiculous  when  com- 
municated;  a  scrap  of  local  speech  heard  at 
this  corner,  a  pleasant  native  face  remembered 
in  that  doorway,  a  battered  vessel  dropping 
a/nchor  —  she  went  out  in  the  spring  with  her 
crew  singing  dolefully  'j  and  the  grey-bearded 
man  waitvng  in  his  boat  beneath  her  counter 
till  the  custom-house  officers  have  made  their 
survey  is  the  father  of  one  among  the  crew, 
a/nd  is  waiting  to  take  his  son's  hand  again, 
after  months  of  absence.  Would  this  interest 
my  friend,  if  I  pointed  it  out  to  him  f  Or, 
if  I  walk  with  him  by  the  path  above  the 
creek,  what  will  he  care  to  know  that  on  this 


4  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

particular  hank  the  violets  always  bloom  earli- 
est —  thai  one  of  a  line  of  yews  that  t&p  the 
churchyard  waU  is  remarkable  because  a  pair 
of  mMsdrthrushes  have  chos&n  it  to  build  in 
for  three  successvve  years  f  The  violets  are 
gon6.  The  empty  nest  hus  almost  dissolved 
wnder  the  late  heavy  rains,  and  the  yew  is  so 
UJce  its  fellows  that  I  m/yself  have  no  idea  why 
the  birds  chose  it.  The  longer  I  reflected  the 
Tnore  certa/in  I  felt  that  my  friend  coxdd  jmd 
dJU  he  wanted  in  the  guide-books. 

None  -the  less,  I  did  my  best:  roioed  him 
for  a  mile  or  two  up  the  river  •  took  him  out 
to  sea,  and  along  the  coast  for  half  a  dozen 
miles.  The  water  wa,s  choppy,  as  it  is  v/nder 
the  slightest  breeze  from  the  south-east ;  a/nd 
the  Journalist  was  seorsick  /  but  seemed  to  m,ind 
this  very  little,  am,d  recovered  sufficiently  to  ask 
my  boatma/n  two  or  three  hundred  questions 
before  we  reached  the  harbour  a^ai/n.  Then 
we  lamded  amd  ewphred  the  Church.  This  took 
tis  soms  tim^,  owing  to  several  freaks  in  its 
construction,  for  which  I  bhssed  the  memory 
of  its  early-EngUsh  builders.  We  went  on  to 
the  Town  JSaU,  the  old  Stammxiry  Prison  {noio 
in  ruins),  the  dilapidated  Block-houses,  the  Bat- 


PROLOGUE.  6 

tery.  We  l/ra/o&rsed  the  town  from  end  to  end 
amd  studied  the  harge-boards  and  punkin-ends 
of  every  old  house.  I  had  meanly  ordered  that 
dinner  should  he  ready  half-amrhour  earlier  than 
usual^  am,dy  as  it  was^  the  objects  of  interest  just 
lasted  out. 

As  we  sat  amd  smoked  ov/r  cigarettes  after 
ddnner,  the  Journalist  said — 

"w/)^  you  don't  mind,  PU  he  off  i/n  a  few 
minutes  and  shut  myself  up  in  your  study.  I 
won't  he  long  tutming  out  the  copy  /  and  after 
that  I  ca/n  talk  to  you  without  feeling  Pve 
neglected  my  work.  There's  am,  early  post  here, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

'■^  Man  alive  P"*  said  /,  '■^you  dorCt  meam,  to 
tell  me  that  youWe  working,  this  holiday  f^^ 

'■^  Only  a  letter  for  the  ^  Daily '  three 

times  a  week  —  a  column  amd  a  half  or  so." 

«  Ths  subject  f  " 

"  Oh,  descriptive  stuff  ahout  the  places  Pve 
been  visiting.    I  call  it '  An  Idler  in  Lyonesse.^ " 

"  Why  Lyonessef" 

''Why  not?'' 

"  Well,  Lyonesse  has  lain  at  the  bottom,  of  the 
Atlantic,  between  Land's  End  and  Scilly,  these 
eight  hundred  years.      The  chj'oniclers  relate 


6  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCBT. 

that  it  was  overwhelmed  a/nd  lost  in  1099,  A.D. 
If  your  Constant  Headers  ca/re  to  ramble  there, 
they're  welcome,  Pm  sureP 

"/  had  thought^''  said  he,  '''■it  was  just  a 
poeCs  name  for  Cornwall.  Well,  never  mind, 
PH  go  in  presently  am.d  write  up  this  place :  ifs 
just  as  well  to  do  it  while  one's  impressions  are 
still  fresh." 

He  finished  his  coffee,  Ut  a  fresh  cigarette, 
am^d  strolled  off  to  the  little  library  where  I 
usually  work.  I  stepped  out  upon  the  verandah 
and  looked  down  on  the  harbour  at  my  feet, 
where  already  the  vessels  were  hanging  out  their 
lamps  in  the  twilight.  I  had  looked  down  thu^, 
a/nd  at  this  hour,  a  thousand  times  y  a/nd  always 
the  scene  had  som,ething  new  to  reveal  to  7ne, 
a/nd  much  more  to  withhold  —  small  subtleties 
such  as  a  ma/n  finds  in  his  wife,  however  ordi- 
na/ry  she  may  appear  to  other  people.  And 
here,  i/n  the  next  room,,  was  a  man  who,  in  half 
a-dozen  hours,  felt  able  to  describe  Troy,  to 
deck  her  out,  at  least,  in  language  that  should 
captivate  a  million  or  so  of  breakfasting 
Britons. 

'•''My  cou/ntry^'*  said  I,  '"''if  you  have  given 
up,  in  these  six  hours,  a  tithe  of  your  heart  to 


PBOLOGUE.  7 

this  mo/n — if,  in  fact,  his  screed  be  not  arrant 
bosh  —  then  will  I  hie  me  to  London  for  good 
and  all,  and  write  political  leaders  all  the  days 
of  my  lifeP 

In  an  hour's  time  the  Journalist  came  saun- 
tering out  to  me,  a/nd  announced  that  his  letter 
was  written. 

^'-  Have  you  sealed  it  v/pf'^ 

"  Well,  no.  I  thought  you  might  give  me  cm 
additional  hint  or  two  f'  and  maybe  I  might 
look  it  over  again  amd  add  a  few  lines  before 
turning  in.''^ 

"  Do  you  mind  my  seeing  it  f  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,  if  you  care  to. 
I  didn't  think,  though,  that  it  could  possibly 
interest  you,  who  know  already  every  mortal 
thing  that  is  to  be  known  about  the  placed 

"  Yov^re  mistaken.  I  may  know  all  about 
this  place  when  I  die,  but  not  before.  Le^s 
hear  what  you  have  to  say.^^     ■ 

We  went  indoors,  and  he  read  it  over  to  ine. 

It  was  a  surprisingly  brilliant  piece  of 
description;  a/nd  accurate,  too.  He  had  not 
called  it  "  a  little  fishing-tmjon^''  for  insta/nce,  as 
so  TTbony  visitors  ha/ve  done  in  my  hearing, 
though  hardly  a  fishvng-hoat  puts  out  from  the 


8  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

harbour.  The  guide-loolcs  call  it  a  Jlshing4own, 
hut  the  Journalist  was  not  misled,  though  he 
had  gone  to  them  for  a  number  of  facts.  I 
corrected  a  date  and  then  sat  silent.  It  amazed 
me  that  a  man  who  could  see  so  much,  should 
fail  to  perceive  that  what  he  had  seen  was  of  no 
account  i/n  comparison  with  what  he  had  not : 
or  that,  if  he  did  indeed  perceive  this,  he  could 
write  such  stuff  with  such  gusto.  ^^  To  be 
capable  of  so  much  and  content  with  so  little,^^ 
I  thought ;  and  then  broke  off  to  wonder  if, 
after  all,  he  were  not  right.  To-morrow  he 
would  be  on  his  way,  crowding  his  mind  with 
quick  and  brilliant  impressions,  hurrying,  liv- 
ing, telling  his  fellows  a  thousand  useful  and 
pleasam^t  things,  while  I  pored  about  to  discover 
one  or  two  for  them. 

"7  thought^"*  said  the  Journalist,  swinging 
his  gold  pencil-case  bei/ween  fnger  and  thumb, 
"  you  might  furnish  me  with  just  a  hint  or  so, 
to  give  the  thing  a  local  colour.  Some  little 
characteristic  of  the  natives,  for  instance.  I 
noticed,  this  afternoon,  when  I  was  most  sea- 
sick, that  your  fellow  took  off  his  hat  and 
pulled  something  out  of  the  lining.  I  was  too 
iU  to  see  what  it  was  /  but  he  dropped  it  over- 


PROLOGUE.  9 

hoa/rd  the  next  mmute  and  muttered  some- 
thing.''^ 

"  Oh,  you  remarked  that,  did  you  f  " 

"  Yes,  and  meant  to  ask  him  about  it  after- 
wards ',  hut  forgot,  somehow^'' 

"  Do  you  remember  where  we  were  — what  we 
were  passing —  when  he  did  this  f  " 

^^  Not  clearly.  I  was  infernally  ill  just 
then.     Why  did  he  do  it  f " 

I  was  silent. 

^^  I  suppose  it  had  some  meaning  f^^  he  went 
on. 

"  Tes,  it  had.  And  excuse  me  when  I  say 
that  /'m  hanged  if  either  you  or  your  Constant 
Headers  shall  know  what  that  meaning  was. 
My  dear  fellow,  you  belong  to  a  strong  race — a 
race  that  has  beaten  us  and  taken  toll  of  us, 
a/ad  now  carves  '  Smith '  and  '  Thompson '  and 
such  names  upon  our  fathers'  tombs.  But  there 
are  some  things  you  ha/ve  not  laid  hands  on 
yet;  secrets  that  we  all  know  somehow,  but 
never  utter,  even  among  ourselves,  nor  allude 
to.  If  I  told  you  what  Billy  Tredegar  did 
to-da/y,  and  why  he  did  it,  I  tell  you  frankly 
your  article  would  make  some  thousa/nds  of 
Constant  Headers  open  wide   eyes  over  their 


10  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

hreakfastrcujps.  But  you  wonH  hnow.  Why^ 
after  all^  should  I  say  anything  to  spoil  Corn- 
walV s  jprosjpects  as  a  health-resort  f  " 

My  friend  tooh  this  'very  quietly,  merely 
observing  that  it  was  rather  late  in  the  day  to 
take  sides  against  Hengist  and  Horsa.  But  he 
was  sorry,  I  could  see,  to  lose  his  local  colour. 
And  as  I  looked  down,  for  the  last  time  that 
night,  upon  Troy,  this  petition  escaped  me  — 

"  O  m/y  country,  if  I  keep  your  secrets,  keep 
for  me  your  heart !  " 


THE  SPINSTEK'S  MAYING. 

s 

"  The  fields  breathe  sweet,  the  daisies  kiss  our  feet, 
Young  lovers  meet,  old  wives  a-sunning  sit; 
In  every  street  these  tunes  our  ears  do  greet  — 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-wee,  to-witta-woo  ! 
Spring,  the  sweet  Spring." 

At  two  o'clock  on  May  morning  a  fishing- 
boat,  with  a  small  row-boat  in  tow,  stole  up 
the  harbour  between  the  lights  of  the  vessels 
that  lay  at  anchor.  She  came  on  a  soundless 
tide,  with  her  sprit-mainsail  wide  and  drawing, 
and  her  foresail  flapping  idle ;  and  although 
her  cuddy-top  and  gunwale  glistened  wet  with 
a  recent  shower,  the  man  who  steered  her 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the  waning  moon, 
and  decided  that  the  dawn  would  be  a  fine  one. 
A  furlong  below  the  Town  Quay  he  left  the 
tiller  and  lowered  sail:  two  furlongs  above, 
he  dropped  anchor :  then,  having  made  all 
ship-shape,  he  lit  a  pipe  and  pulled  an  enormous 
watch  from  his  fob.  The  vessels  he  had  passed 
11 


12  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

since  entering  the  harbour's  mouth  seemed  one 
and  all  asleep.  But  a  din  of  horns,  kettles,  and 
tea-trays,  and  a  wild  tattoo  of  door-knockers, 
sounded  along  the  streets  behind  the  stores 
and  houses  that  lined  the  water-side.  Already 
the  town-boys  were  ushering  in  the  month  of 
May. 

The  man  waited  until  the  half-hour  chimed 
over  the  'long-shore  roofs  from  the  church-tower 
up  the  hill ;  set  his  watch  with  care ;  and  sat 
down  to  wait  for  the  sun.  Upon  the  wooded 
cliff  that  faces  the  town  the  birds  were  waking ; 
and  by-and-bye,  from  the  three  small  quays 
came  the  sound  of  voices  laughing,  and  then  a 
boat  or  two  stealing  out  of  the  shadow,  each 
crowded  with  boys  and  maids.  Before  the 
dawn  grew  red  above  the  cliff  where  the  birds 
sang,  a  dozen  boats  had  gone  by  him  on  their 
way  up  the  river,  the  chatter  and  broken 
laughter  returning  down  its  dim  reaches  long 
after  the  rowers  had  passed  out  of  sight. 

For  some  moments  longer  he  watched  the 
broadening  daylight,  till  the  sun,  mounting 
above  the  cliff,  blazed  on  the  watch  he  had 
again  pulled  out  and  now  shut  with  a  brisk 
snap.    His  round,  shaven  face,  still  boyish  in 


THE  SPINSTEB'S  MATING.  18 

middle  age,  wore  the  shadow  of  a  solemn 
responsibility.  He  clambered  out  into  the 
small  boat  astern,  and,  casting  loose,  pulled 
towards  a  bright  patch  of  colour  in  the  grey 
shore  wall:  a  blue  quay-door  overhung  with 
ivy.  The  upper  windows  of  the  cottage  behind 
it  were  draped  with  snowy  muslin,  and  its  walls, 
coated  with  recent  whitewash,  shamed  its 
neighbours  to  right  and  left. 

As  the  boat  dropped  under  this  blue  quay- 
door,  its  upper  flap  opened  softly,  and  a  voice 
as  softly  said  — 

"Thank  you  kindly,  John.  And  how  d'ye 
do  this  May  morning  ? " 

"  Charming,"  the  man  answered  frankly. 
"  Handsome  weather  'tis,  to  be  sure." 

He  looked  up  and  smiled  at  her,  like  a  lover. 

"I  needn't  to  ask  how  you  be;  for  you'm 
looking  sweet  as  blossom,"  he  went  on. 

And  yet  the  woman  that  smiled  down  on 
him  was  fifty  years  old  at  least.  Her  hair, 
which  usually  lay  in  two  flat  bands,  closely 
drawn  over  the  temples,  had  for  this  occasion 
been  worked  into  waves  by  curling-papers,  and 
twisted  in  front  of  either  ear,  into  that  particu- 
lar ringlet  locally  called  a  kiss-me-quick.     But 


14  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

it  was  streaked  with  grey,  and  the  pinched 
features  wore  the  tint  of  pale  ivory. 

"  D^e  think  you  can  clamber  down  the  lad- 
der, Sarah  ?    The  tide's  fairly  high." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  be  showing  my  ankles." 

''  I  was  hoping  so.  Wunnerful  ankles  you've 
a-got,  Sarah,  and  a  wunnerful  cage  o'  teeth. 
Such  extremities  'd  well  beseem  a  king's 
daughter,  all  glorious  within ! " 

Sarah  Blewitt  pulled  open  the  lower  flap  of 
the  door  and  set  her  foot  on  the  ladder.  She 
wore  a  white  print  gown  beneath  her  cloak,  and 
a  small  bonnet  of  black  straw  decorated  with 
sham  cowslips.  The  cloak,  hitching  for  a 
moment  on  the  ladder's  side,  revealed  a  beaded 
reticule  that  hung  from  her  waist,  and  clinked 
as  she  descended. 

"  I  reckon  there's  scarce  an  inch  of  paint  left 
on  my  front  door,"  she  observed,  as  the  man 
steadied  her  with  an  arm  round  her  waist,  and 
settled  her  comfortably  in  the  stern-sheets. 

He  unshipped  his  oars  and  began  to  pull. 

"  Ay.  I  heard  'em  whackin'  the  door  with  a 
deal  o'  tow-row.  They  was  going  it  like  billy-0 
when  I  came  past  the  Town  Quay.  But  one 
mustn'  complain,  May-mornin's." 


THE  SPINSTER'S  MATING.  15 

"  I  wasn'  complaining,"  said  the  woman ;  "  I 
was  just  remarking.    How's  Maria?" 

"  She's  nicely,  thank  you." 

"And  the  children?" 

"  Brave." 

"  I've  put  up  sixpennyworth  of  nicey  in  four 
packets  —  that's  one  apiece — and  I've  written 
the  name  on  each,  for  you  to  take  home  to  'em." 

She  fumbled  in  her  reticule  and  produced 
the  packets.  The  peppermint-drops  and  brandy- 
balls  were  wrapped  in  clean  white  paper,  and 
the  names  written  in  a  thin  Italian  hand.  John 
thanked  her  and  stowed  them  in  his  trousers 
pockets. 

"You'U  give  my  love  to  Maria?  I  take  it 
very  kindly  her  letting  you  come  for  me  like 
this." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that  —  "  began  John,  and  broke 
off;  "I  don't  caU  to  mind  that  ever  I  saw 
a  more  handsome  morning  for  the  time  o' 
year." 

They  had  made  this  expedition  together 
more  than  a  score  of  times,  and  always  found 
the  same  difficulty  in  conversing.  The  boat 
moved  easily  past  the  town,  the  jetties  above 
it,  and  the  vessels  that  lay  off  them  awaiting 


16  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT* 

their  cargoes ;  it  turned  the  comer  and  glided 
by  woods  where  the  larches  were  green,  the 
sycamores  dusted  with  bronze,  the  wild  cherry- 
trees  white  with  blossom,  and  all  voluble. 
Every  little  bird  seemed  ready  to  burst  his 
throat  that  morning  with  the  deal  he  had  to 
say.  But  these  two  —  the  man  especially  — 
had  nothing  to  say,  yet  ached  for  words. 

"Nance  Treweek's  married,"  the  woman 
managed  to  tell  him  at  last. 

"I  was  thinking  it  likely,  by  the  way  she 
carried  on  last  Maying." 

"  That  wasn'  the  man.  She've  kept  company 
with  two  since  him,  and  mated  with  a  fourth 
man  altogether  —  quite  a  different  sort,  in  the 
commercial  traveller  line." 

"  Did  he  wear  a  seal  weskit  ? " 

"  Well,  he  might  have ;  but  not  to  my  knowl- 
edge.   "What  makes  you  ask  ? " 

"Because  I  used  to  know  a  Johnny  Fort- 
night that  wore  one  in  these  parts;  and  I 
thought  it  might  be  he,  belike." 

"  Jim  had  a  greater  gift  o'  speech  than  you 
can  make  pretence  to,"  said  the  woman  abruptly. 
"  I  often  wonder  that  of  two  twin-brothers  one 
should  be  so  glib  and  t'other  so  mum-chance." 


THE  SPIN  STUB'S  MATING.  17 

"'Tis  the  Lord's  ways,"  the  man  answered, 
resting  on  his  oars.  "Will  you  be  dabblin' 
your  feet  as  usual,  Sarah  ? " 

"Why  not?" 

He  turned  the  boat's  nose  to  a  small  landing- 
place  cut  in  the  solid  rock,  where  a  straight 
pathway  dived  between  hazel-bushes  and  ap- 
peared again  twenty  feet  above,  winding  inland 
around  the  knap  of  a  green  hill.  Here  he 
helped  her  to  disembark,  and  waited  with  his 
back  to  the  shore.  The  spinster  behind  the 
hazel  screen  pulled  off  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
paddled  about  for  a  minute  in  the  dewy  grass 
that  fringed  the  meadow's  lower  slope.  Then, 
drawing  a  saucer  from  her  reticule,  she  wrung 
some  dew  into  it  and  bathed  her  face.  Ten 
minutes  later  she  re-appeared  on  the  river's  bank. 

"  A  happy  May,  John ! " 

"  A  happy  May  to  you,  Sarah ! " 

John  stepped  out  beside  her,  and  making 
his  boat  fast,  followed  her  up  the  narrow  path 
and  around  the  shoulder  of  the  steep  meadow. 
They  overed  a  stile,  then  a  second,  and  were 
among  pink  slopes  of  orchards  in  bloom. 
Ahead  of  them  a  church  tower  rose  out  of  soft 
billows  of  apple-blossom,  and  above  the  tower 


18  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

a  lark  was  singing.  A  child  came  along  the 
footpath  from  the  village  with  two  garlands 
mounted  cross-wise  on  a  pole  and  looped  to- 
gether with  strings  of  painted  birds'  eggs. 
John  gave  him  a  penny  for  his  show. 

"Here's  luck  to  your  lass!"  said  the  wise 
child. 

Sarah  was  pleased,  and  added  a  sec6nd  penny 
from  her  reticule.  The  boy  spat  on  it  for  luck, 
slipped  it  into  his  breeches  pocket,  and  went 
on  his  way  skipping. 

They  stood  still  and  looked  after  him  for 
some  moments,  out  of  pure  pleasure  in  his  good 
humour;  then  descended  among  the  orchards 
to  the  village.  Half-way  up  the  street  stood 
the  inn,  the  Flowing  Source,  with  white- washed 
front  and  fuchsia-trees  that  reached  to  the  first- 
floor  windows;  and  before  it  a  well  enclosed 
with  a  round  stone  wall,  over  which  the  toad- 
flax spread  in  a  tangle.  Around  the  well,  in 
the  sunshine,  were  set  a  dozen  or  more  small 
tables,  covered  with  white  cloths,  and  two  score 
at  least  of  young  people  eating  bread  and  cream 
and  laughing.  The  landlady,  a  broad  woman 
in  a  blue  print  gown  and  large  apron,  came 
forward. 


THE  SPIN  STUB'S  MAYING.  19 

"  Why,  Miss  Sarah,  I'd  nigh  'pon  given  you 
up.  Your  table's  been  spread  this  hour,  an' 
at  last  I  was  forced  to  ask  some  o'  the  young 
folks  if  you  was  dead  or  no." 

"  "Why  should  1  be  dead  more  than  another?" 

"  Well,  well  —  in  the  midst  o'  life,  we're  told. 
'Tisn'  only  the  ripe  apples  that  the  wind  scat- 
ters. He  that  comes  by  your  side  to-day  is  but 
twin-brother  to  him  that  came  wi'  you  the  first 
time  I  mind  'ee,  seemin'  but  yesterday.  Eh, 
Miss  Sarah,  but  I  envied  'ee  then,  sittin'  wi' 
hand  in  hand,  an'  but  one  bite  taken  out  o' 
your  bread  an'  cream ;  but  I  was  just  husband- 
high  myself  i'  those  days,  an'  couldn't  make 
the  men  believe  it." 

"  Mary  Ann  Jacobs,"  Miss  Sarah  broke  out, 
"  if  'twas  not  for  the  quality  of  your  cream,  I'd 
go  a-mayin'  elsewhere,  for  I  can  truly  say  I 
hate  your  way  of  talkin'  from  the  bottom  of 
my  soul." 

"  Sarah,"  said  John,  wiping  his  mouth  as  he 
finished  his  bread  and  cream,  "I'm  a  glum 
man,  as  you  well  know;  an'  why  Providence 
drowned  poor  Jim,  when  it  might  have  taken 
his  twin   image   that  hadn'   half    his  mouth- 


20  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY, 

speech,  is  past  findin'  out.  But  'tis  generally 
allowed  that  the  grip  o'  my  hand  is  uncom- 
mon like  what  Jim's  used  to  be ;  an'  when  I 
gets  home  to-night,  the  first  thing  my  old 
woman'U  be  sure  to  ask  is  '  Did  'ee  give 
Sarah  poor  Jim's  hand-clasp?' -- an'  what 
to  say  I  shan't  know,  unless  you  honours  me 
so  far." 

"'Tis  uncommon  good  of  Maria,"  said  the 
woman  simply,  and  stole  her  thin  hand  into  his 
homy  palm.  She  had  done  so,  in  answer  to 
the  same  speech,  more  than  twenty  times. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  John. 

His  fingers  closed  over  hers,  and  rested  so. 
All  but  a  few  of  the  mayers  had  risen  from 
the  table,  and  were  romping  and  chasing  each 
other  back  to  the  boats,  for  the  majority  were 
shop-girls  and  apprentices,  and  must  be  back 
in  time  for  business.  But  Miss  Sarah  was  in 
no  hurry. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  entreated,  as  John's  grasp 
began  to  relax.  He  tightened  it  again  and 
waited,  while  she  leant  back,  breathing  short, 
with  half-closed  eyes. 

At  length  she  said  he  might  release  her. 


THE  SPINSTER'S  MAYING.  21 

"  I'm  sure  'tis  uncommon  kind  of  Maria,"  she 
repeated. 

"I  don't  see  where  the  kindness  comes  in. 
Maria  can  have  as  good  any  day  o'  the  year,  an' 
don't  appear  to  value  it  to  that  extent." 

They  walked  back  through  the  orchards 
in  silence.  At  Miss  Sarah's  quay-door  they 
parted,  and  John  hoisted  sail  for  his  home 
around  the  comer  of  the  coast. 


DAPHNIS. 

Has  olim  exuvias  mihi  perfidus  ille  reliquitf 
Pignora  cara  sui :  quae  nunc  ego  limine  in  ipso, 
Terra,  tibi  mando ;  debent  haec  pignora  Daphnin  — 
Ducite  ah  urbe  domum,  mea,  carmina,  ducite  Daphnin. 

I  KNEW  the  superstition  lingered  along  the 
country-side :  and  I  was  sworn  to  find  it.  But 
the  labourers  and  their  wives  smoothed  all 
intelligence  out  of  their  faces  as  soon  as  I  began 
to  hint  at  it.  Such  is  the  way  of  them.  They 
were  my  good  friends,  but  had  no  mind  to  help 
me  in  this.  ]N^obody  who  has  not  lived  long 
with  them  can  divine  the  number  of  small 
incommunicable  mysteries  and  racial  secrets 
chambered  in  their  inner  hearts  and  guarded 
by  their  hospitable  faces.  These  alone  the 
Celt  withholds  from  the  Saxon,  and  when  he 
dies  they  are  buried  with  him. 

A  chance  word  or  two  of  my  old  nurse,  by 
chance  caught  in  some  cranny  of  a  child's 
memory  and  recovered  after  many  days,  told 

23 


24  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

me  that  the  charm  was  still  practised  by  the 
woman-folk,  or  had  been  practised  not  long 
before  her  death.  So  I  began  to  hunt  for  it, 
and,  almost  as  soon,  to  believe  the  search  hope- 
less. The  new  generation  of  girls,  with  their 
smart  frocks,  in  fashion  not  more  than  six 
months  behind  London,  their  Board  School 
notions,  and  their  consuming  ambition  to  "  look 
like  a  lady "  —  were  these  likely  to  cherish  a 
local  custom  as  rude  and  primitive  as  the  long- 
stone  circles  on  the  tors  above?  But  they 
were  Cornish  ;  and  of  that  race  it  is  unwise  to 
judge  rashly.  For  years  I  had  never  a  clue : 
and  then,  by  Sheba  Farm,  in  a  forsaken  angle 
of  the  coast,  surprised  the  secret. 

Sheba  Farm  stands  high  above  Ruan  sands, 
over  which  its  windows  flame  at  sunset.  And 
I  sat  in  the  farm  kitchen  drinking  cider  and 
eating  potato-cake,  while  the  farmer's  wife, 
Mrs.  Bolverson,  obligingly  attended  to  my  coat, 
which  had  just  been  soaked  by  a  thunder- 
shower.  It  was  August,  and  already  the  sun 
beat  out  again,  fierce  and  strong.  The  bright 
drops  that  gemmed  the  tamarisk-bushes  above 
the  wall  of  the  town-place  were  already  fading 
under  its  heat ;  and  I  heard  the  voices  of  the 


DAPHNI8.  26 

harvesters  up  the  lane,  as  they  returned  to  the 
oat-field  whence  the  storm  had  routed  them. 
A  bright  parallelogram  stretched  from  the 
window  across  the  white  kitchen-table,  and 
reached  the  dim  hollow  of  the  open  fire-place. 
Mrs.  Bolverson  drew  the  towel-horse,  on  which 
my  coat  was  stretched,  between  it  and  the  wood 
fire,  which  (as  she  held)  the  sunshine  would  put 
out. 

"  It's  uncommonly  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Bolver- 
son," said  I,  as  she  turned  one  sleeve  of  the 
coat  towards  the  heat.  "To  be  sure,  if  the 
women  in  these  parts  would  speak  out,  some 
of  them  have  done  more  than  that  for  the  men 
with  an  old  coat." 

She  dropped  the  sleeve,  faced  round,  and 
eyed  me. 

"What  do  you  know  of  that?"  she  asked 
slowly,  and  as  if  her  chest  tightened  over  the 
words.  She  was  a  woman  of  fifty  and  more,  of 
fine  figure  but  a  worn  face.  Her  chief  surviv- 
ing beauty  was  a  pile  of  light  golden  hair,  still 
lustrous  as  a  girl's.  But  her  blue  eyes  —  though 
now  they  narrowed  on  me  suspiciously  —  must 
have  looked  out  magnificently  in  their  day. 

"I    fancy,"   said    I,  meeting  them  frankly 


26  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

enough,  "  that  what  you  know  and  I  don't  on 
that  matter  would  make  a  good  deal." 

She  laughed  harshly,  almost  savagely. 

"  You'd  better  ask  Sarah  Gedye,  across  the 
coombe.  She  buried  a  man's  clothes  one  time, 
and  —  it  might  be  worth  your  while  to  ask  her 
what  came  o't." 

If  you  can  imagine  a  glint  of  moonlight 
running  up  the  blade  of  a  rapier,  you  may 
know  the  chill  flame  of  spite  and  despite  that 
flickered  in  her  eyes  then  as  she  spoke. 

"I  take  my  oath,"  I  muttered  to  myself, 
"  I'll  act  on  the  invitation." 

The  woman  stood  straight  upright,  with 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  before  the  deal 
table.  She  gazed,  under  lowered  brows, 
straight  out  of  window;  and  following  that 
gaze,  I  saw  across  the  coombe  a  mean  mud 
hut,  with  a  waU.  around  it,  that  looked  on 
Sheba  Farm  with  the  obtrusive  humility  of  a 
poor  relation. 

"Does  she — does  Sarah  Gedye  —  live  down 
yonder  ? " 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ? "  she  enquired  fiercely, 
and  then  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  added, 
with  another  short  laugh  — 


DAPHNiS.  27 

"  I  reckon  I'd  like  the  question  put  to  her : 
but  I  doubt  you've  got  the  pluck." 

"  You  shall  see,"  said  I ;  and  taking  my  coat 
off  the  towel-horse,  I  slipped  it  on. 

She  did  not  turn,  did  not  even  move  her 
head,  when  I  thanked  her  for  the  shelter  and 
walked  out  of  the  house.  ' 

I  could  feel  those  steel-blue  eyes  working  like 
gimlets  into  my  back  as  I  strode  down  the  hill 
and  passed  the  wooden  plank  that  lay  across 
the  stream  at  its  foot.  A  climb  of  less  than 
a  minute  brought  me  to  the  green  gate  in 
the  wall  of  Sarah  Gedye's  garden  patch;  and 
here  I  took  a  look  backwards  and  upwards  at 
Sheba.  The  sun  lay  warm  on  its  white  walls, 
and  the  whole  building  shone  against  the  burnt 
hillside.  It  was  too  far  away  for  me  to  spy 
Mrs.  Bolverson's  blue  print  gown  within  the 
kitchen  window,  but  I  knew  that  she  stood 
there  yet. 

The  sound  of  a  footstep  made  me  turn.  A 
woman  was  coming  round  the  corner  of  the 
cottage,  "with  a  bundle  of  mint  in  her  hand. 

She  looked  at  me,  shook  off  a  bee  that  had 
blundered  against  her  apron,  and  looked  at  me 
again  —  a  brown  woman,   lean    and  strongly 


28  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

made,  with  jet-black  eyes  set  deep  and  glisten- 
ing in  an  ugly  face. 

"  You  want  to  know  your  way? "  she  asked. 

"  ISTo.  I  came  to  see  you,  if  your  name  is 
Sarah  Gedye." 

"  Sarah  Ann  Gedye  is  my  name.  What  'st 
want?" 

I  took  a  sudden  resolution  to  teU  the  exact 
truth. 

"  Mrs.  Gedye,  the  fact  is  I  am  curious  about 
an  old  charm  that  was  practised  in  these  parts, 
as  I  know,  till  recently.  The  charm  is  this  — 
"When  a  woman  guesses  her  lover  to  be  faithless 
to  her,  she  buries  a  suit  of  his  old  clothes  to 
fetch  him  back  to  her.  Mrs.  Bolverson,  up  at 
Sheba  yonder  —  " 

The  old  woman  had  opened  her  mouth  (as  I 
know  now)  to  curse  me.  But  as  Mrs.  Bolver- 
son's  name  escaped  me,  she  turned  her  back, 
and  walked  straight  to  her  door  and  into  the 
kitchen.  Her  manner  told  me  that  I  was 
expected  to  follow. 

But  I  was  not  prepared  for  the  face  she 
turned  on  me  in  the  shadow  of  the  kitchen.  It 
was  grey  as  wood-ash,  and  the  black  eyes 
shrank  into  it  like  hot  specks  of  fire. 


DAPHNI8.  29 

"She  —  she  set  you  on  to  ask  me  that?" 
She  caught  me  by  the  coat  and  hissed  out : 
"  Come  back  from  the  door  —  don't  let  her 
see."  Then  she  lifted  up  her  fist,  with  the  mint 
tightly  clutched  in  it,  and  shook  it  at  the  warm 
patch  of  Sheba  buildings  across  the  valley. 

"  May  God  burn  her  bones,  as  He  has  smitten 
her  body  barren !  " 

""What  do  you  know  of  this?"  she  cried, 
turning  upon  me  again. 

"  I  know  nothing.  That  I  have  offered  you 
some  insult  is  clear :  but  —  " 

"Kay,  you  don't  know  —  you  don't  know. 
No  man  would  be  such  a  hound.  You  don't 
know;  but,  by  the  Lord,  you  shall  hear,  here 
where  you'm  standin',  an'  shall  jedge  betwix' 
me  an'  that  pale  'ooman  up  yonder.  Stand 
there  an'  list  to  me. 

"He  was  my  lover  more'n  five-an'-thirty 
years  agone.  "Who?  That  'ooman's  wedded 
man,  Seth  Bolverson.  "We  wam't  married  "  — 
this  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Wife  or  less  than 
wife,  he  found  me  to  his  mind.  She — she  that 
egged  you  on  to  come  an'  flout  me  —  was  a 
pale-haired  girl  o'  seventeen  or  so  i'  those  times 
— a  ohurch-goin'  mincin'  strip  of  a  girl  —  the 


30  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

sort  you  men-folk  bow  the  knee  to  for  saints. 
Her  father  owned  Sheba  Farm,  an'  she  look'd 
across  on  my  man,  an'  had  envy  on  'en,  an'  set 
her  eyes  to  draw  'en.  Oh,  a  saint  she  was! 
An'  he,  the  poor  shammick,  went.  'Twas  a 
good  girl,  you  understand,  that  wished  for  to 
marry  an'  reform  'en.  She  had  money,  too. 
If  I'd  ha'  poured  out  my  blood  for  'en :  that's 
all  I  cud  do.     So  he  went. 

"  As  the  place  shines  this  day,  it  shone  then. 
Like  a  moth  it  drew  'en.  Late  o'  summer 
evenin's  its  windeys  shone  when  down  below 
here  'twas  chill  i'  the  hill's  shadow.  An'  late 
at  night  the  candles  burned  up  there  as  he 
courted  her.  Purity  and  cosiness,  you  under- 
stand, an'  down  here  —  he  forgot  about  down 
here.  Before  he'd  missed  to  speak  to  me  for 
a  month,  I'd  hear  'en  whistlin'  up  the  hill,  so 
merry  as  a  grig.     "Well,  he  married  her. 

"  They  was  married  three  months,  an'  'twas 
harvest  time  come  round,  an'  I  in  his  vield 
a-gleanin'.  For  I  was  suffered  near  to  that 
extent,  seein'  that  the  cottage  here  had  been 
my  fathers',  an'  was  mine,  an'  out  o't  they  culdn' 
turn  me.  One  o'  the  hands,  as  they  was  pitchin', 
passes  me  an  empty  keg,  an'  says,  '  Run  you  to 


DAPHNI8.  31 

the  farm-place  an'  get  it  filled.'  So  with  it  I 
went  to  th'  kitchen,  and  while  I  waited  outside 
I  sees  his  coat  an'  wesket  'pon  a  peg  i'  the  pas- 
sage. "Well  I  knew  the  coat;  an'  a  madness 
takin'  me  for  all  my  loss,  I  unhitched  it  an'  flung 
it  behind  the  door,  an',  the  keg  bein'  filled, 
picked  it  up  agen  and  ran  down  home-along. 

"l!^o  thought  had  I  but  to  win  Seth  back. 
'Twas  the  charm  you  spoke  about:  an'  that 
same  midnight  I  delved  a  hole  by  the  dreshold 
an'  buried  the  coat,  whisperin',  'Man,  come  back, 
come  hacTc  to  me!''  as  Aun'  Lesnewth  had 
a-taught  me,  times  afore. 

"But  she,  the  pale  woman,  had  a-seen  me, 
dro'  a  chink  o'  the  parlour-door,  as  I  tuk  the 
coat  down.  An'  she  knowed  what  I  tuk  it  for. 
I've  a-read  it,  times  and  again,  in  her  wifely 
eyes ;  an'  to-day  you  yoursel'  are  witness  that 
she  knowed.     If  Seth  knowed  —  " 

She  clenched  and  unclenched  her  fist,  and 
went  on  rapidly. 

"  Early  next  mornin',  and  a'most  afore  I  was 
dressed,  two  constables  came  in  by  the  gate,  an' 
she  behind  'em  treadin'  delicately,  an'  he  at  her 
back,  wi'  his  chin  dropped.  They  charged  me 
wi'   stealin'  that  coat  —  wi'   stealin'  it  —  that 


32  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

coat  that  I'd  a-darned  an'  patched  years  afore 
ever  she  cuddled  against  its  sleeve  1 " 

"What  happened?"  I  asked,  as  her  voice 
sank  and  halted. 

"What  happened?  She  looked  me  i'  the 
eyes  scornfully ;  an'  her  own  were  full  o'  knowl- 
edge. An'  wi'  her  eyes  she  coaxed  and  dared 
me  to  abase  mysel'  an'  speak  the  truth  an'  win 
off  jail.  An'  I,  that  had  stole  nowt,  looked 
back  at  her  an'  said, '  It's  true.  I  stole  the  coat. 
!N"ow  cart  me  off  to  jail ;  but  handle  me  gently 
for  the  sake  o'  my  child  unborn.'  When  I 
spoke  these  last  two  words  an'  saw  her  face 
draw  up  wi'  the  bitterness  o'  their  taste,  I  held 
out  my  wrists  and  clapped  the  handcuffs  to- 
gether like  cymbals  and  laughed  wi'  a  glad 
heart." 

She  caught  my  hand  suddenly,  and  drawing 
me  to  the  porch,  pointed  high  above  Sheba, 
to  the  yellow  upland  where  the  harvesters 
moved. 

"  Do  'ee  see  'en  there  ?  —  that  taU  young  man 
by  the  hedge — there  where  the  slope  dips? 
That's  my  son,  Seth's  son,  the  straightest  man 
among  all.  Neither  spot  has  he,  nor  wart,  nor 
blemish  'pon  his  body ;  and  when  she  pays  'en 


BAPHNIS.  33 

his  wages,  Saturday  evenin's,  he  says '  Thank  'ee, 
ma'am,'  wi'  a  voice  that's  the  very  daps  o'  his 
father's.  An'  she's  childless.  Ah,  childless 
woman !  Childless  woman !  Go  back  an'  carry 
word  to  her  o'  the  prayer  I've  spoken  upon  her 
childlessness." 

And  "Childless  woman!"  "Childless  wo- 
man!" she  called  twice  again,  shaking  her 
fist  at  the  windows  of  Sheba  Farm-house,  that 
blazed  back  angrily  against  the  westering  sun. 


WHEN  THE  SAP  KOSE. 

A   FA2JTASIA. 

An  old  yellow  van  —  the  Comet  —  came  jolt- 
ing along  the  edge  of  the  downs  and  shaking 
its  occupants  together  like  peas  in  a  bladder. 
The  bride  and  bridegroom  did  not  mind  this 
much ;  but  the  Registrar  of  Births,  Deaths,  and 
Marriages,  who  had  bound  them  in  wedlock  at 
the  Bible  Christian  Chapel  two  hours  before, 
was  discomforted  by  a  pair  of  tight  boots,  that 
nipped  cruelly  whenever  he  stuck  out  his  feet  to 
keep  his  equilibrium. 

Nevertheless,  his  mood  was  genial,  for  the 
young  people  had  taken  his  suggestion  and 
acquired  a  copy  of  their  certificate.  This 
meant  five  extra  shillings  in  his  pocket.  There- 
fore, when  the  van  drew  up  at  the  cross-roads 
for  him  to  alight,  he  wished  them  long  life  and 
a  multitude  of  children  with  quite  a  fatherly 
air. 

"  You  can't  guess  where  I'm  bound  for.     It's 

35 


36  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

to  pay  my  old  mother  a  visit.  Ah,  family  life's 
the  pretty  life  —  that  ever  /  should  say  it ! " 

They  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  be 
cynical,  more  than  other  men.  And  the  bride, 
in  whose  eyes  this  elderly  gentleman  with  the 
tight  boots  appeared  a  rosy  winged  Cupid, 
waved  her  handkerchief  untU  the  vehicle  had 
sidled  round  the  hill,  resembling  in  its  progress 
a  very  infirm  crab  in  a  hurry. 

As  a  fact,  the  Eegistrar  wore  a  sUk  hat, 
a  suit  of  black  West-of-England  broadcloth, 
a  watch-chain  made  out  of  his  dead  wife's  hair, 
and  two  large  seals  that  clashed  together  when 
he  moved.  His  face  was  wide  and  round,  with 
a  sanguine  complexion,  grey  side- whiskers,  and 
a  cicatrix  across  the  chin.  He  had  shaved  in 
a  hurry  that  morning,  for  the  wedding  was 
early,  and  took  place  on  the  extreme  verge  of 
his  district.  His  is  a  beautiful  office — record- 
ing day  by  day  the  solemnest  and  most  myste- 
rious events  in  nature.  Yet,  standing  at  the 
cross-roads,  between  down  and  woodland,  under 
an  April  sky  full  of  sun  and  south-west  wind, 
he  threw  the  ugliest  shadow  in  the  land- 
scape. 

The   road  towards  the  coast   dipped  —  too 


WHEN  THE  SAP  ROSE.  87 

steeply  for  tight  boots  —  down  a  wooded 
coombe,  and  he  followed  it,  treading  delicately. 
The  hollow  of  the  V  ahead,  where  the  hills 
overlapped  against  the  pale  blue,  was  powdered 
with  a  faint  brown  bloom,  soon  to  be  green  — 
an  infinity  of  bursting  buds.  The  larches 
stretched  their  arms  upwards,  as  men  waking. 
The  yellow  was  out  on  the  gorse,  with  a  heady 
scent  like  a  pineapple's,  and  between  the  bushes 
spread  the  grey  film  of  coming  blue-bells.  High 
up,  the  pines  sighed  along  the  ridge,  turning 
paler;  and  far  down,  where  the  brook  ran,  a 
mad  duet  was  going  on  between  thrush  and 
chaiRnch  —  ^^  Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  Queen  I'^'' 
^^Clip  clip,  clip,  and  hiss  me  —  Sweet!"  —  one 
against  the  other. 

Now,  the  behaviour  of  the  Registrar  of 
Births,  Deaths,  and  Marriages  changed  as  he 
descended  the  valley.  At  first  he  went  from 
side  to  side,  because  the  loose  stones  were  sharp 
and  lay  unevenly ;  soon  he  zig-zagged  for  an- 
other purpose  —  to  peer  into  the  bank  for  vio- 
lets, to  find  a  gap  between  the  trees  where,  by 
bending  down  with  a  hand  on  each  knee  and 
his  head  tilted  back,  he  could  see  the  primroses 
stretching  in  broad  sheets  to  the  very  edge  of 


38  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

the  pine-woods.  By  frequent  tilting  his  collar 
broke  from  its  stud  and  his  silk  hat  settled  far 
back  on  his  neck.  Next  he  unbuttoned  his 
waistcoat  and  loosened  his  braces ;  but  no,  he 
could  not  skip  —  his  boots  were  too  tight.  He 
looked  at  each  tree  as  he  passed.  "  If  I  could 
only  see  "  —  he  muttered.  "  I'll  swear  there 
used  to  be  one  on  the  right,  just  here." 

But  he  could  not  find  it  here  —  perhaps  his 
memory  misgave  him  —  and  presently  turned 
with  decision,  climbed  the  low  fence  on  his  left, 
between  him  and  the  hollow  of  the  coombe, 
and  dropped  into  the  plantation  on  the  other 
side.  Here  the  ground  was  white  in  patches 
with  anemones ;  and  as  his  feet  crushed  them, 
descending,  the  babel  of  the  birds  grew  louder 
and  louder. 

He  issued  on  a  smaU  clearing  by  the  edge  of 
the  brook,  where  the  grass  was  a  delicate  green, 
each  blade  pushing  up  straight  as  a  spear- 
point  from  the  crumbled  earth.  Here  were 
more  anemones,  between  patches  of  last  year's 
bracken,  and  on  the  further  slope  a  mass  of 
daffodils.  He  pulled  out  a  pocket-knife  that  had 
sharpened  some  hundreds  of  quill  pens,  and  look- 
ing to  his  right,  found  what  he  wanted  at  once. 


WHEN   THE  SAP  ROSE.  '  39 

It  was  a  sycamore,  on  which,  the  buds  were 
swelling.  He  cut  a  small  twig,  as  big  round  as 
his  middle  finger,  and  sitting  himself  down  on 
a  barked  log,  close  by,  began  to  measure  and 
cut  it  to  a  span's  length,  avoiding  all  knots. 
Then,  taking  the  knife  by  the  blade  between 
finger  and  thumb,  he  tapped  the  bark  gently 
with  the  tortoise-shell  handle.  And  as  he 
tapped,  his  face  went  back  to  boyhood  again, 
in  spite  of  the  side-whiskers,  and  his  mouth 
was  pursed  up  to  a  silent  tune. 

For  ten  minutes  the  tapping  continued ;  the 
birds  ceased  their  contention,  and  broke  out 
restlessly  at  intervals.  A  rabbit  across  the 
brook  paused  and  listened  at  the  funnel-shaped 
mouth  of  his  hole,  which  caught  the  sound  and 
redoubled  it. 

"  Confound  these  boots  !  "  said  the  Eegistrar, 
and  pulling  them  off,  tossed  them  among  the 
primroses.     They  were  "  elastic-sides." 

The  tapping  ceased.  A  breath  of  the  land- 
ward breeze  came  up,  combing  out  the  tangle 
that  winter  had  made  in  the  grass,  caught  the 
brook  on  the  edge  of  a  tiny  fall,  and  puffed  it 
back  six  inches  in  a  spray  of  small  diamonds. 
It  quickened  the  whole  copse.     The  oak-sap- 


40  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

lings  rubbed  their  old  leaves  one  on  another,  as 
folks  rub  their  hands,  feeling  life  and  warmth  ; 
the  chestnut-buds  groped  like  an  infant's  fin- 
gers; and  the  chorus  broke  out  again,  the 
thrush  leading  —  "  Tiurru,  tiurru,  chippewee  / 
tio-tee,  tio-tee  /  queen,  queen,  que-een  /  " 

In  a  moment  or  two  he  broke  off  suddenly, 
and  a  honey-bee  shot  out  of  an  anemone-bell 
like  a  shell  from  a  mortar.  For  a  new  sound 
disconcerted  them — a  sound  sharp  and  piercing. 
The  Registrar  had  finished  his  whistle  and  was 
blowing  Mke  mad,  moving  his  fingers  up  and 
down.  Having  proved  his  instrument,  he  dived 
a  hand  into  his  tail-pocket  and  drew  out  a  roll, 
tied  around  with  ribbon.  It  was  the  folded 
leather-bound  volume  in  which  he  kept  his 
blank  certificates.  And  spreading  it  on  his 
knees,  he  took  his  whistle  again  and  blew,  read- 
ing his  music  from  the  blank  pages,  and  piping 
a  strain  he  had  never  dreamed  of.  For  he 
whistled  of  Births  and  Marriages. 

O,  happy  Registrar !  O,  happy,  happy  Re- 
gistrar !  You  will  never  get  into  those  elastic- 
sides  again.  Your  feet  swell  as  they  tap  the 
swelling  earth,  and  at  each  tap  the  flowers  push, 
the  sap  climbs,  the  speck  of  life  moves  in  the 


WHEN   THE  SAP  BOSE.  41 

hedge-sparrow's  egg;  while,  far  away  on  the 
downs,  mth  each  tap,  the  yellow  van  takes 
bride  and  groom  a  foot  nearer  felicity.  It  is 
hard  work  in  worsted  socks,  for  you  smite  with 
the  vehemence  of  Pan,  and  Pan  had  a  hoof  of 
horn. 

The  Registrar's  mother  lived  in  the  fishing- 
village,  two  miles  down  the  coombe.  Her 
cottage  leant  back  against  the  cliff  so  closely, 
that  the  boys,  as  they  followed  the  path  above, 
could  toss  tabs  of  turf  down  her  chimney :  and 
this  was  her  chief  annoyance. 

Kow,  it  was  close  on  the  dinner-hour,  and 
she  stood  in  her  kitchen  beside  a  pot  of  stew 
that  simmered  over  the  wreck- wood  fire. 

Suddenly  a  great  lump  of  earth  and  grass 
came  bouncing  down  the  chimney,  striking 
from  side  to  side,  and  soused  into  the  pot, 
scattering  the  hot  stew  over  the  hearth-stone 
and  splashing  her  from  head  to  foot. 

Quick  as  thought,  she  caught  up  a  besom 
and  rushed  out  around  the  corner  of  the  cot- 
tage. 

"  Tou  stinking  young  adders ! "  she  began. 

A  big  man  stood  on  the  slope  above  her. 


42  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCRT. 

"Mother,  cuff  my  head,  that's  a  dear.  I 
couldn'  help  doin'  it." 

It  was  the  elderly  Kegistrar.  His  hat,  collar, 
tie,  and  waistcoat  were  awry ;  his  boots  were 
slung  on  the  walking-stick  over  his  shoulder; 
stuck  in  his  mouth  and  lit  was  a  twist  of  root- 
fibre,  such  as  country  boys  use  for  lack  of 
cigars,  and  he  himself  had  used,  forty  years 
before. 

The  old  woman  turned  to  an  ash-colour, 
leant  on  her  besom,  and  gasped. 

"  WilHam  Henry ! " 

"I'm  not  drunk,  mother:  been  a  Band  of 
Hope  these  dozen  years."  He  stepped  down 
the  slope  to  her  and  bent  his  head  low.  "  Box 
my  ears,  mother,  quick !  You  used  to  have  a 
wonderful  gift  o'  cuffin'." 

"  William  Henry,  I'm  bound  to  do  it  or  die." 

"  Then  be  quick  about  it." 

Half-laughing,  half-sobbing,  she  caught  him 
a  feeble  cuff,  and  next  instant  held  him  close  to 
her  old  breast.  The  Kegistrar  disengaged  him- 
self after  a  minute,  brushed  his  eyes,  straight- 
ened his  hat,  picked  up  the  besom,  and  offered 
her  his  arm.  They  passed  into  the  cottage 
together. 


THE  PAUPEES. 
I. 

ov  fi€v  yap  Tov  yc  Kpeiaraov  koI  aptiov, 
7]  off  6fjLo<f>poveovT€  vorjfjuwiv  oIkov  iXV'^^ 
ivrjp  ^8e  yvvrj. 

Round  the  skirts  of  the  plantation,  and  half- 
way down  the  hill,  there  runs  a  thick  fringe 
of  wild  cherry-trees.  Their  white  blossom 
makes,  for  three  weeks  in  the  year,  a  pretty 
contrast  with  the  larches  and  Scotch  firs  that 
serrate  the  long  ridge  above  ;  and  close  under 
their  branches  runs  the  line  of  oak  rails  that 
marks  off  the  plantation  from  the  meadow. 

A  labouring  man  came  deliberately  round 
the  slope,  as  if  following  this  line  of  rails.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  treading  the  little-used 
footpath  that  here  runs  close  alongside  the 
fence  for  fifty  yards  before  diverging  down- 
hill towards  the  village.  So  narrow  is  this 
path  that  the  man's  boots  were  powdered  to  a 

43 


44  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

rich  gold  by  the  buttercups  they  had  brushed 
aside. 

By-and-bye  he  came  to  a  standstill,  looked 
over  the  fence,  and  listened.  Up  among  the 
larches  a  faint  chopping  sound  could  just  be 
heard,  irregular  but  persistent.  The  man  put 
a  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  hailed  — 

"Hi-i-i!  Knock  off!  Stable  clock's  gone 
noo-oon ! " 

Came  back  no  answer.  But  the  chopping 
ceased  at  once ;  and  this  apparently  satisfied 
the  man,  who  leaned  against  the  rail  and  waited, 
chewing  a  spear  of  brome-grass,  and  staring 
steadily,  but  incuriously,  at  his  boots.  Two 
minutes  passed  without  stir  or  sound  in  this 
corner  of  the  land.  The  human  figure  was 
motionless.  The  birds  in  the  plantation  were 
taking  their  noonday  siesta.  A  brown  butterfly 
rested,  with  spread  wings,  on  the  rail  —  so 
quietly,  he  might  have  been  pinned  there. 

A  cracked  voice  was  suddenly  lifted  a  dozen 
yards  off,  and  within  the  plantation  — 

"  Such  a  man  as  I  be  to  work !  Never  heard 
a  note  o'  that  blessed  clock,  if  you'U  believe 
me.     Ab-sorbed,  I  s'pose." 

A    thin    withered    man    in    a    smock-frock 


THE  PAUPERS.  46 

emerged  from  among  the  cherry-trees  with  a 
bill-hook  in  his  hand,  and  stooped  to  pass  under 
the  rail. 

"  Ewgh !  The  pains  I  suffer  in  that  old  back 
of  mine  you'll  never  believe,  my  son,  not  till 
the  appointed  time  when  you  come  to  suffer 
'em  yoursel'.  Well-a-well !  Says  I  just  now, 
up  among  the  larches,  '  Heigh,  my  sonny-boys, 
I  can  crow  over  you,  anyways ;  for  I  was  a 
man  grown  when  Squire  planted  ye ;  and  here 
I  be,  a  lusty  gaffer,  markin'  ye  down  for  de- 
struction.'   But  hullo !  Where's  the  dinner  ? " 

"  There  hain't  none." 

"Hey?" 

"  There  hain't  none." 

"How's  that?  Damme!  William  Henry, 
dinner's  dinner,  an'  don't  you  joke  about  it. 
Once  you  begin  to  make  fun  o'  sacred  things 
like  meals  and  vittles  —  " 

"And  don't  you  flare  up  like  that,  at  your 
time  o'  life.  We're  fashionists  to-day :  dining 
out.  'Quarter  after  nine  this  morning .  I  was 
passing  by  the  Green  wi'  the  straw-cart,  when 
old  Jan  Trueman  calls  after  me,  'Have  'ee 
heard  the  news  ? '  '  What  news  ? '  says  I. 
'Why,'  says  he,  'me  an'  my  missus  be  going 


46  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

into  the  House  this  afternoon  —  can't  manage 
to  pull  along  by  ourselves  any  more,'  he  says  ; 
'  an'  we  wants  you  an'  your  father  to  drop  in 
soon  after  noon  an'  take  a  bite  wi'  us,  for  old 
times'  sake.  'Tis  our  last  taste  o'  free  life,  and 
we'm  going  to  do  the  thing  fittywise,'  he  says." 

The  old  man  bent  a  meditative  look  on  the 
village  roofs  below. 

"  We'll  pleasure  'en,  of  course,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  So  'tis  come  round  to  Jan's  turn  ?  But  a'  was 
born  in  the  year  of  Waterloo  victory,  ten  year' 
afore  me,  so  I  s'pose  he've  kept  his  doom  off 
longer  than  most." 

The  two  set  off  down  the  footpath.  There 
is  a  stile  at  the  foot  of  the  meadow,  and  as  he 
climbed  it  painfully,  the  old  man  spoke  again. 

"And  his  doorway,  I  reckon,  '11  be  locked 
for  a  little  while,  an'  then  opened  by  strangers ; 
an'  his  nimble  youth  be  forgot  like  a  flower 
o'  the  field  ;  an'  fare  thee  well,  Jan  Trueman  ! 
Maria,  too  —  I  can  mind  her  well  as  a  nursing 
mother  —  a  comely  woman  in  her  day.  I'd  no 
notion  they'd  got  this  in  their  mind." 

"Far  as  I  can  gather,  they've  been  minded 
that  way  ever  since  their  daughter  Jane  died, 
lastfaU." 


THE  PAUPERS.  47 

From  the  stile  where  they  stood  they  could 
look  down  into  the  village  street.  And  old 
Jan  Trueman  was  plain  to  see,  in  clean  linen 
and  his  Sunday  suit,  standing  in  the  doorway 
and  welcoming  his  guests. 

"  Come  ye  in  —  come  ye  in,  good  friends," 
he  called,  as  they  approached.  "  There's  cold 
bekkon,  an'  cold  sheep's  liver,  an'  Dutch  cheese, 
besides  bread,  an'  a  thimble-full  o'  gin-an'-water 
for  every  soul  among  ye,  to  make  it  a  day  of 
note  in  the  parish." 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder  into  the 
kitchen.  A  dozen  men  and  women,  all  elderly, 
were  already  gathered  there.  They  had  brought 
their  own  chairs.  Jan's  wife  wore  her  bonnet 
and  shawl,  ready  to  start  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Her  luggage  in  a  blue  handkerchief  lay  on  the 
table.  As  she  moved  about  and  supplied  her 
guests,  her  old  lips  twitched  nervously;  but 
when  she  spoke  it  was  with  no  unusual  tremor 
of  the  voice. 

"I  wish,  friends,  I  could  ha'  cooked  ye  a 
little  something  hot;  but  there'd  be  no  time 
for  the  washing-up,  an'  I've  ordained  to  leave 
the  place  tidy." 

One  of  the  old  women  answered  — 


48  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"There's  nought  to  be  pardoned,  I'm  sure. 
IS^ever  do  I  mind  such  a  gay  set-off  for  the 
journey.  For  the  gin-an'-water  is  a  little  addi- 
tion beyond  experience.  The  vittles,  no  doubt, 
you  begged  up  at  the  Vicarage,  sayin'  you'd 
been  a  peck  o'  trouble  to  the  family,  but  this 
was  going  to  be  the  last  time." 

"  I  did,  I  did,"  assented  Mr.  Trueman. 

"  But  the  gin-an'-water  —  how  on  airth  you 
contrived  it  is  a  riddle ! " 

The  old  man  rubbed  his  hands  together  and 
looked  around  with  genuine  pride. 

"  There  was  old  Miss  Scantlebury,"  said  an- 
other guest,  a  smock-frocked  gaffer  of  seventy, 
with  a  grizzled  shock  of  hair.  "  You  remember 
Miss  Scantlebury  ? " 

"  O'  course,  o'  course." 

"Well,  she  did  it  better  'n  anybody  I've 
heard  tell  of.  When  she  fell  into  redooced 
circumstances  she  sold  the  eight-day  clock  that 
was  the  only  thing  o'  value  she  had  left. 
Brown  o'  Tregarrick  made  it,  with  a  very 
curious  brass  dial,  whereon  he  carved  a  full- 
rigged  ship  that  rocked  like  a  cradle,  an'  went 
down  stern  foremost  Avhen  the  hour  struck. 
'Twas  worth  walking  a  mile  to  see.    Brown's 


THE  PAUPEBS.  49 

grandson  bought  it  off  Miss  Scantlebury  for 
two  guineas,  he  being  proud  of  his  grand- 
father's skill;  an'  the  old  lady  drove  into 
Tregarrick  Work'us  behind  a  pair  o'  greys  wi' 
the  proceeds.  Over  and  above  the  carriage 
hire,  she'd  enough  left  to  adorn  the  horse  wi' 
white  favours  an'  give  the  rider  a  crown,  large 
as  my  lord.  Aye,  an'  at  the  Work'us  door 
she  said  to  the  fellow,  said  she,  'All  my  life 
I've  longed  to  ride  in  a  bridal  chariot;  an' 
though  my  only  lover  died  of  a  decline  when 
I  was  scarce  twenty-two,  I've  done  it  at  last,' 
said  she ;  '  an'  now  heaven  an'  airth  can't  undo 
it!'" 

A  heavy  silence  followed  this  anecdote, 
and  then  one  or  two  of  the  women  vented 
small  disapproving  coughs.  The  reason  was 
the  speaker's  loud  mention  of  the  Workhouse. 
A  week,  a  day,  a  few  hours  before,  its  name 
might  have  been  spoken  in  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Trueman's  presence.  But  now  they  had  entered 
its  shadow;  they  were  "going"  —  whether  to 
the  dim  vale  of  Avilion,  or  with  chariot  and 
horses  of  fire  to  heaven,  let  nobody  too  curiously 
ask.  If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trueman  chose  to  speak 
definitely,  it  was  another  matter. 


50  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

Old  Jan  bore  no  malice,  however,  but 
answered,  "  That  beats  me,  I  own.  Yet  we 
shall  drive,  though  it  be  upon  two  wheels 
an'  behind  a  single  horse.  For  Farmer  Lear's 
driving  into  Tregarrick  in  an  hour's  time,  an' 
he've  a-promised  us  a  lift." 

"But  about  that  gin-an'- water ?  For  real 
gin-an' -water  it  is,  to  sight  an'  taste." 

"  WeU,  friends,  I'll  tell  ye :  for  the  trick  may 
serve  one  of  ye  in  the  days  when  you  come  to 
follow  me,  tho'  the  new  relieving  officer  may 
have  learnt  wisdom  before  then.  You  must 
know  we've  been  considering  of  this  step  for 
some  while,  but  hearing  that  old  Jacobs  was 
going  to  retire  soon,  I  says  to  Maria,  '"We'll 
bide  till  the  new  officer  comes,  and  if  he's  a 
green  hand,  we'll  diddle  'en.'  Day  before 
yesterday,  as  you  know,  was  his  first  round 
at  the  wotk;  so  I  goes  up  an'  draws  out  my 
ha'af -crown  same  as  usual,  an'  walks  straight  off 
for  the  Four  Lords  for  a  ha'af-crown's  worth 
o'  gin.  Then  back  I  goes,  an'  demands  an 
admission  order  for  me  an'  the  missus.  '  Why, 
Where's  your  ha'af -crown  ? '  says  he.  '  Gone  in 
drink,'  says  I.  'Old  man,'  says  he,  'you'm  a 
scandal,  an'   the  sooner  you're  put  out  o'  the 


THE  PAUPEBS.  51 

way  o'  drink,  the  better  for  you  an'  your  poor 
wife.'  'Right  you  are,'  I  says;  an'  I  got  my 
order.  But  there,  I'm  wasting  time ;  for  to 
be  sure  you've  most  of  ye  got  kith  and  kin  in 
the  place  where  we'm  going,  and  '11  be  wanting 
to  send  'em  a  word  by  us." 

It  was  less  than  an  hour  before  Farmer  Lear 
pulled  up  to  the  door  in  his  red-wheeled  spring- 
cart. 

"Now,  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Trueman,  as  her 
ears  caught  the  rattle  of  the  wheels,  "I  must 
trouble  ye  to  step  outside  while  I  tidy  up  the 
floor." 

The  women  offered  their  help,  but  she  de- 
clined it.  Alone  she  put  the  small  kitchen  to 
rights,  while  they  waited  outside  around  the 
door.  Then  she  stepped  out  with  her  bundle, 
locked  the  door  after  her,  and  slipped  the  key 
under  an  old  flower-pot  on  the  window  ledge. 
Her  eyes  were  dry. 

"  Come  along,  Jan." 

There  was  a  brief  hand-shaking,  and  the 
paupers  climbed  up  beside  Farmer  Lear. 

"  I've  made  a  sort  o'  little  plan  in  my  head," 
said  old  Jan  at  parting,  "  of  the  order  in  which 


52  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

I  shall  see  ye  again,  one  by  one.  'Twill  be  a 
great  amusement  to  me,  friends,  to  see  how  the 
fact  fits  in  wi'  my  little  plan." 

The  guests  raised  three  feeble  cheers  as  the 
cart  drove  away,  and  hung  about  for  several 
minutes  after  it  had  passed  out  of  sight,  gazing 
along  the  road  as  wistfully  as  more  prosperous 
men  look  in  through  churchyard  gates  at  the 
acres  where  their  kinsfolk  lie  buried. 


II. 


The  first  building  passed  by  the  westerly 
road  as  it  descends  into  Tregarrick  is  a  sombre 
pile  of  some  eminence,  having  a  gateway  and 
lodge  before  it,  and  a  high  encircling  wall. 
The  sun  lay  warm  on  its  long  roof,  and  the 
slates  flashed  gaily  there,  as  Farmer  Lear  came 
over  the  knap  of  the  hill  and  looked  down  on 
it.  He  withdrew  his  eyes  nervously  to  glance 
at  the  old  couple  beside  him.  At  the  same 
moment  he  reined  up  his  dun-coloured  mare. 

"I  reckoned,"  he  said  timidly,  "I  reckoned 
you'd  be  for  stopping  hereabouts  an'  getting 
down.  You'd  think  it  more  seemly  —  that's 
what  I  reckoned  :  an'  'tis  down-hill  now  all  the 
way." 

For  ten  seconds  and  more  neither  the  man 
nor  the  woman  gave  a  sign  of  having  heard  him. 
The  spring-cart's  oscillatory  motion  seemed  to 
have  entered  into  their  spinal  joints ;  and  now 
that  they  had  come  to  a  halt,  their  heads  con- 

53 


54  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

tinued  to  wag  forward  and  back  as  they  con- 
templated the  haze  of  smoke  spread,  like  a 
blue  scarf  over  the  town,  and  the  one  long  slate 
roof  that  rose  from  it  as  if  to  meet  them.  At 
length  the  old  woman  spoke,  and  with  some 
viciousness,  though  her  face  remained  as  blank 
as  the  Workhouse  door. 

"  The  next  time  I  go  back  up  this  hill,  if  ever 
1  do,  I'U  be  carried  up  feet  first." 

"  Maria,"  said  her  husband,  feebly  reproachful, 
"  you  tempt  the  Lord,  that  you  do." 

"Thank  'ee.  Farmer  Lear,"  she  went  on, 
paying  no  heed;  "you  shall  help  us  down,  if 
you've  a  mind  to,  an'  drive  on.  We'll  make 
shift  to  trickly  'way  down  so  far  as  the  gate; 
for  I'd  be  main  vexed  if  anybody  that  had 
known  me  in  life  should  see  us  creep  in.  Come 
along,  Jan." 

Farmer  Lear  alighted,  and  helped  them  out 
carefully.  He  was  a  clumsy  man,  but  did  his 
best  to  handle  them  gently.  When  they  were 
set  on  their  feet,  side  by  side  on  the  high  road, 
he  climbed  back,  and  fell  to  arranging  the 
reins,  while  he  cast  about  for  something  to  say. 

"  Well,  folks,  I  s'pose  I  must  be  wishing  'ee 
good-bye."     He  meant  to  speak  cheerfully,  but 


THE  PAUPERS.  65 

over-acted,  and  was  hilarious  instead.  Recog- 
nising this,  he  blushed. 

"We'll  meet  in  heaven,  I  daresay,"  the 
woman  answered.  "I  put  the  door-key,  as 
you  saw,  under  the  empty  geranium-pot  'pon 
the  window-ledge ;  an'  whoever  the  new  ten- 
ant's wife  may  be,  she  can  eat  off  the  floor  if 
she's  minded.  Now  drive  along,  that's  a  good 
soul,  and  leave  us  to  fend  for  ourselves." 

They  watched  him  out  of  sight  before  either 
stirred.  The  last  decisive  step,  the  step  across 
the  Workhouse  threshold,  must  be  taken  with 
none  to  witness.  If  they  could  not  pass  out 
of  their  small  world  by  the  more  reputable 
mode  of  dying,  they  would  at  least  depart 
with  this  amount  of  mystery.  They  had  left 
the  village  in  Farmer  Lear's  cart,  and  Farmer 
Lear  had  left  them  in  the  high  road;  and 
after  that,  nothing  should  be  known. 

"ShaU  we  be  moving  on?"  Jan  asked  at 
length.  There  was  a  gate  beside  the  road  just 
there,  with  a  small  triangle  of  green  before  it, 
and  a  granite  roller  half-buried  in  dock-leaves. 
Without  answering,  the  woman  seated  herself 
on  this,  and  pulling  a  handful  of  the  leaves, 
dusted  her  shoes  and  skirt. 


66  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"  Maria,  you'll  take  a  chill  that'U  carry  you 
off,  sitting  'pon  that  cold  stone." 

"  I  don't  care.  'Twon't  carry  me  off  afore  I 
get  inside,  an'  I'm  going  in  decent,  or  not  at 
all.     Come  here,  an'  let  me  tittivate  you." 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  submitted  to 
be  dusted. 

"  You'd  as  lief  lower  me  as  not  in  their  eyes, 
I  verily  believe." 

"  I  always  was  one  to  gather  dust." 

"An'  a  fresh  spot  o'  bacon-fat  'pon  your 
weskit,  that  I've  kept  the  moths  from  since 
goodness  knows  when!" 

Old  Jan  looked  down  over  his  waistcoat.  It 
was  of  good  West-of -England  broadcloth,  and 
he  had  worn  it  on  the  day  when  he  married 
the  woman  at  his  side. 

"  I'm  thinking  —  "  he  began. 

"Hey?" 

"  I'm  thinking  I'U  find  it  hard  to  make 
friends  in  —  in  there.  'Tis  such  a  pity,  to  my 
thinking,  that  by  reggilations  we'll  be  parted 
so  soon  as  we  get  inside.  You've  a-got  so  used 
to  my  little  ways  an'  corners,  an'  we've  a-got 
so  many  little  secrets  together  an'  old-fash'ned 
odds  an'  ends  o'  knowledge,  that  you  can  take 


THE  PAUPERS.  67 

my  meaning  almost  afore  I  start  to  speak. 
An'  that's  a  great  comfort  to  a  man  o'  my  age. 
It'll  be  terrible  hard,  when  I  wants  to  talk,  to 
begin  at  the  beginning  every  time.  There's 
that  old  yam  o'  mine  about  Hambly's  cow  an' 
the  lawn-mowing  machine  —  I  doubt  that  any- 
body '11  enjoy  it  so  much  as  you  always  do; 
an'  I've  so  got  out  o'  the  way  o'  telling  the 
beginning  —  which  bain't  extra  funny,  though 
needful  to  a  stranger's  understanding  the  whole 
joke  —  that  I  'most  forgets  how  it  goes." 

"  We'll  see  one  another  now  an'  then,  they 
tell  me.  The  sexes  meet  for  Chris'mas-trees 
an'  such-like." 

"  I'm  jealous  that  'twon't  be  the  same.  Fou 
can't  hold  your  triflin'  confabs  with  a  great 
Chris'mas-tree  blazin'  away  in  your  face  as 
important  as  a  town  afire." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  start  along,"  the  old 
woman  decided,  getting  on  her  feet ;  "  or  else 
someone  'U  be  driving  by  and  seeing  us." 

Jan,  too,  stood  up. 

"We  may  so  weU  make  our  congees  here," 
she  went  on,  "as  under  the  porter's  nose." 

An  awkward  silence  fell  between  them  for  a 
minute,  and  these  two  old  creatures,  who  for 


58  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

more  than  fifty  years  had  felt  no  constraint  in 
each  other's  presence,  now  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  with  a  fearful  diffidence.  Jan 
cleared  his  throat,  much  as  if  he  had  to  make 
a  public  speech. 

"Maria,"  he  began  in  an  unnatural  voice, 
•'we're  bound  for  to  part,  and  I  can  trewly 
swear,  on  leaving  ye,  that  — " 

"  —  that  for  two-score  year  and  twelve  it's 
never  entered  your  head  to  consider  whether 
I've  made  'ee  a  good  wife  or  a  bad.  Kiss  me, 
my  old  man ;  for  I  tell  'ee  I  wouldn'  ha'  wished 
it  other.  An'  thank  'ee  for  trying  to  make 
that  speech.    What  did  it  feel  like?" 

"Why,  't  rather  reminded  me  o'  the  time 
when  I  offered  'ee  marriage." 

"It  reminded  me  o'  that,  too.  Com'st 
along." 

They  tottered  down  the  hill  towards  the 
Workhouse  gate.  When  they  were  but  ten 
yards  from  it,  however,  they  heard  the  sound 
of  wheels  on  the  road  behind  them,  and  walked 
bravely  past,  pretending  to  have  no  business  at 
that  portal.  They  had  descended  a  good  thirty 
yards  beyond  (such  haste  was  put  into  them  by 
dread  of  having  their  purpose  guessed)  before 


THE  PAUPERS.  69 

the  vehicle  overtook  them  —  a  four- wheeled 
dog-cart  carrying  a  commercial  traveller,  who 
pulled  up  and  offered  them  a  lift  into  the  town. 

They  declined. 

Then,  as  soon  as  he  passed  out  of  sight,  they 
turned,  and  began  painfully  to  climb  back 
towards  the  gate.  Of  the  two,  the  woman  had 
shown  the  less  emotion.  But  all  the  way  her 
lips  were  at  work,  and  as  she  went  she  was 
praying  a  prayer.  It  was  the  only  one  she 
used  night  and  morning,  and  she  had  never 
changed  a  word  since  she  learned  it  as  a  chit  of 
a  child.  Down  to  her  seventieth  year  she  had 
never  found  it  absurd  to  beseech  God  to  make 
her  "  a  good  girl "  ;  nor  did  she  find  it  so  as  the 
"Workhouse  gate  opened,  and  she  began  a  new 
life. 


CUCKOO  YALLEY  KAILWAY. 

This  century  was  still  young  and  ardent 
when  ruin  fell  upon  Cuckoo  Yalley.  Its  head 
rested  on  the  slope  of  a  high  and  sombre  moor- 
land, scattered  with  granite  and  china-clay ;  and 
by  the  small  town  of  Ponteglos,  where  it 
widened  out  into  arable  and  grey  pasture-land, 
the  Cuckoo  river  grew  deep  enough  to  float  up 
vessels  of  small  tonnage  from  the  coast  at  the 
spring  tides.  I  have  seen  there  the  boom  of 
a  trading  schooner  brush  the  grasses  on  the 
river-bank  as  she  came  before  a  southerly  wind, 
and  the  haymakers  stop  and  almost  crick  their 
necks  staring  up  at  her  top-sails.  But  between 
the  moors  and  Ponteglos  the  valley  wound  for 
fourteen  miles  or  so  between  secular  woods,  so 
steeply  converging  that  for  the  most  part  no 
more  room  was  left  at  the  bottom  of  the  Y 
than  the  river  itself  filled.  The  fisherman 
beside  it  trampled  on  pimpernels,  sundew, 
watermint,  and  asphodels,  or  pushed  between 
61 


62  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

clumps  of  Osmunda  regalis  that  overtopped 
him  by  a  couple  of  feet.  If  he  took  to  wading, 
there  was  much  ado  to  stand  against  the  cur- 
rent. Only  here  and  there  it  spread  into  a 
stm  black  pool,  greased  with  eddies ;  and  beside 
such  a  pool,  it  was  odds  that  he  found  a  diminu- 
tive meadow,  green  and  flat  as  a  billiard-table, 
and  edged  with  clumps  of  fern.  To  think  of 
Cuckoo  Yalley  is  to  call  up  the  smell  of  that 
fern  as  it  wrapped  at  the  bottom  of  the  creel 
the  day's  catch  of  salmon-peal  and  trout. 

The  town  of  Tregarrick  (which  possessed  a 
gaol,  a  workhouse,  and  a  lunatic  asylum,  and 
called  itself  the  centre  of  the  Duchy)  stood 
three  miles  back  from  the  lip  of  this  happy 
valley,  whither  on  summer  evenings  its  burghers 
rambled  to  eat  cream  and  junket  at  the  Dairy 
Farm  by  the  river  bank,  and  afterwards  sit  to 
watch  the  fish  rise,  while  the  youngsters  and 
maidens  played  hide-and-seek  in  the  woods. 
But  there  came  a  day  when  the  names  of  Watt 
and  Stephenson  waxed  great  in  the  land,  and 
these  slow  citizens  caught  the  railway  frenzy. 
They  took  it,  however,  in  their  own  fashion. 
They  never  dreamed  of  connecting  themselves 


CUCKOO   VALLEY  RAILWAY.  63 

with  other  towns  and  a  larger  world,  but  of 
aggrandisement  by  means  of  a  railway  that 
should  run  from  Tregarrick  to  nowhere  in 
particular,  and  bring  the  intervening  wealth  to 
their  doors.  They  planned  a  railway  that 
should  join  Tregarrick  with  Cuckoo  Valley,  and 
there  divide  into  two  branches,  the  one  bringing 
ore  and  clay  from  the  moors,  the  other  fetching 
up  sand  and  coal  from  the  sea.  Surveyors  and 
engineers  descended  upon  the  woods;  then  a 
cloud  of  navvies.  The  days  were  filled  with 
the  crash  of  falling  timber  and  the  rush  of 
emptied  trucks.  The  stream  was  polluted,  the 
fish  died,  the  fairies  were  evicted  from  their 
rings  beneath  the  oak,  the  morals  of  the 
junketing  houses  underwent  change.  The  vale 
knew  itself  no  longer ;  its  smoke  went  up 
week  by  week  with  the  noise  of  pick-axes  and 
oaths. 

On  August  13th,  1834,  the  Mayor  of  Tre- 
garrick declared  the  new  line  open,  and  a 
locomotive  was  run  along  its  rails  to  Dunford 
Bridge,  at  the  foot  of  the  moors.  The  engine 
was  christened  The  Wonder  of  the  Age;  and 
I  have  before  me  a  handbill  of  the  festivities 
of  that  proud   day,  which  tells  me  that  the 


64  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

mayor  himself  rode  in  an  open  truck,  "  embel- 
lished with  Union  Jacks,  lions  and  unicorns, 
and  other  loyal  devices."  And  then  Nature 
settled  down  to  heal  her  wounds,  and  the 
Cuckoo  Valley  Railway  to  pay  no  dividend  to 
its  promoters. 

It  is  now  two  years  and  more  since,  on  an 
August  day,  I  wound  up  my  line  by  Dunford 
Bridge,  and  sauntered  towards  the  Light  Horse- 
man Inn,  two  gunshots  up  the  road.  The  time 
was  four  o'clock,  or  thereabouts,  and  a  young 
couple  sat  on  a  bench  by  the  inn-door, 
drinking  cocoa  out  of  one  cup.  Above  their 
heads  and  along  the  house-front  a  vine-tree 
straggled,  but  its  foliage  was  too  thin  to  afford 
a  speck  of  shade  as  they  sat  there  in  the  eye  of 
the  westering  sun.  The  man  (aged  about  one- 
and-twenty)  wore  the  uncomfortable  Sunday- 
best  of  a  mechanic,  with  a  shrivelled,  but  still 
enormous,  bunch  of  Sweet- William  in  his 
buttonhole.  The  girl  was  dressed  in  a  bright 
green  gown  and  a  white  bonnet.  Both  were 
flushed  and  perspiring,  and  I  still  think  they 
must  have  ordered  hot  cocoa  in  haste,  and  were 
repenting  it  at  leisure.     They  lifted  their  eyes 


CUCKOO   VALLEY  RAILWAY.  65 

and  blushed  with  a  yet  warmer  red  as  I  passed 
into  the  porch. 

Two  men  were  seated  in  the  cool  tap-room, 
each  with  a  pasty  and  a  mug  of  beer.  A  com- 
position of  sweat  and  coal-dust  had  caked  their 
faces,  and  so  deftly  smoothed  all  distinction  out 
of  their  features  that  it  seemed  at  the  moment 
natural  and  proper  to  take  them  fpr  twins. 
Perhaps  this  was  an  error :  perhaps,  too,  their 
appearance  of  extreme  age  was  produced  by 
the  dark  grey  dust  that  overlaid  so  much  of 
them  as  showed  above  the  table.  As  twins, 
however,  I  remember  them,  and  cannot  shake 
off  the  impression  that  they  had  remained  twins 
for  an  unusual  number  of  years. 

One  addressed  me.  "  Parties  outside  pretty 
comfortable  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  They  were  drinking  out  of  the  same  cup," 
I  answered. 

He  nodded.  "Made  man  and  wife  this 
mornin'.  I  don't  fairly  know  what's  best  to  do. 
Lord  knows  I  wouldn'  hurry  their  soft  looks 
and  dilly-dallyin' ;  but  did  'ee  notice  how  much 
beverage  was  left  in  the  cup  ? " 

"  They  was  mated  at  Tregarrick,  half-after- 
nine  this  mornin',"   observed   the  other  twin, 


66  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

pulling  out  a  great  watch,  "and  we  brought 
'em  down  here  in  a  truck  for  their  honeymoon. 
The  agreement  was  for  an  afternoon  in  the 
woods  ;  but  by  crum  !  sir,  they've  sat  there  and 
held  one  another's  hand  for  up'ards  of  an  hour 
after  the  stated  time  to  start.  And  we  ha'nt 
the  heart  to  tell  'em  so." 

He  walked  across  to  the  window  and  peered 
over  the  blind. 

"  There's  a  mort  of  grounds  in  the  cocoa 
that's  sold  here,"  he  went  on,  after  a  look,  "  and 
'tisn't  the  sort  that  does  the  stomach  good, 
neither.  For  their  own  sakes,  I'll  give  the 
word  to  start,  and  chance  their  thankin'  me 
some  day  later  when  they  learn  what  things  be 
made  of." 

The  other  twin  arose,  shook  the  crumbs 
off  his  trousers,  and  stretched  himself.  I 
guessed  now  that  this  newly-married  pair  had 
delayed  traffic  at  the  Dunford  terminus  of 
the  Cuckoo  Yalley  Railway  for  almost  an  hour 
and  a  half ;  and  I  determined  to  travel  into 
Tregarrick  by  the  same  train. 

So  we  strolled  out  of  the  inn  towards  the 
line,  the  lovers  following,  arm-in-arm,  some 
fifty  paces  behind. 


CUCKOO   VALLEY  RAILWAY.  67 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  station  ? "  I  inquired. 

The  twins  stared  at  me. 

Presently  we  turned  down  a  lane  scored 
with  dry  ruts,  passed  an  oak  plantation,  and 
came  on  a  clearing  where  the  train  stood  ready. 
The  line  did  not  finish :  it  ended  in  a  heap  of 
sand.  There  were  eight  trucks,  seven  of  them 
laden  with  granite,  and  an  engine,  with  a  pro- 
digiously long  funnel,  bearing  the  name  The 
Wonder  of  the  Age  in  brass  letters  along  its 
boiler. 

"Kow,"  said  one  of  the  twins,  while  the 
other  raked  up  the  furnace,  "you  can  ride  in 
the  empty  truck  with  the  lovers,  or  on  the 
engine  along  with  us  —  which  you  like." 

I  chose  the  engine.  We  climbed  on  board, 
gave  a  loud  whistle,  and  jolted  off.  Far  down, 
on  our  right,  the  river  shone  between  the  trees, 
and  these  trees,  encroaching  on  the  track,  almost 
joined  their  branches  above  us.  Ahead,  the 
moss  that  grew  upon  the  sleepers  gave  the  line 
the  appearance  of  a  green  glade,  and  the  grasses, 
starred  with  golden-rod  and  mallow,  grew  tall 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  rails.  It  seemed  that 
in  a  few  more  years  Nature  would  cover  this 
scar  of  1834,  and  score  the  return  match  against 


68  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

man.  Rails,  engine,  ofl&cials,  were  already 
no  better  than  ghosts :  youth  and  progress  lay 
in  the  pushing  trees,  the  salmon  leaping  against 
the  dam  below,  the  young  man  and  maid  sitting 
with  clasped  hands  and  amatory  looks  in  the 
hindmost  truck. 

At  the  end  of  three  miles  or  so  we  gave  an 
alarming  whistle,  and  slowed  down  a  bit.  The 
trees  were  thinner  here,  and  I  saw  that  a  high- 
road came  down  the  hill,  and  cut  across  our 
track  some  fifty  yards  ahead.  We  prepared  to 
cross  it  cautiously. 

"Ho— a— oy!     Stop!" 

The  brake  was  applied,  and  as  we  came  to 
a  standstill  a  party  of  men  and  women  de- 
scended the  hill  towards  us. 

"'Tis  Susan  "Warne's  seventh  goin'  to  be 
christen'd,  by  the  look  of  it,"  said  the  engine- 
driver  beside  me;  "an',  by  crum!  we've  got 
the  Kimbly." 

The  procession  advanced.  In  the  midst 
walked  a  stout  woman,  carrying  a  baby  in  long 
clothes,  and  in  front  a  man  bearing  in  both 
hands  a  plate  covered  with  a  white  cloth.  He 
stepped  up  beside  the  train,  and,  almost  before 
I  had  time  to  be  astonished,  a  large  yellow  cake 


CUCKOO   VALLEY  RAILWAY.  69 

was  thrust  into  my  hands.  Engine-driver  and 
stoker  were  also  presented  with  a  cake  a-piece, 
and  then  the  newly-married  pair,  who  took  and 
ate  with  some  shyness  and  giggling. 

"Is  it  a  boy  or  a  girl?"  asked  the  stoker, 
with  his  mouth  full. 

"  A  boy,"  the  man  answered ;  "  and  I  count 
it  good  luck  that  you  men  of  modern  ways 
should  be  the  first  we  meet  on  our  way  to 
church.  The  child  '11  be  a  go-ahead  if  there's 
truth  in  omens." 

"  You're  right,  naybour.  We're  the  speediest 
men  in  this  part  of  the  universe,  I  d'  believe. 
Here's  luck  to  'ee,  Susan  Warne ! "  he  piped 
out,  addressing  one  of  the  women  ;  "  an'  if  you 
want  a  name  for  your  seventh,  you  may  christen 
'en  after  the  engine  here,  the  Wonder  of  the 
Age:' 

We  waved  our  hats  and  jolted  off  again 
towards  Tregarrick.  At  the  end  of  the  jour- 
ney the  railway  officials  declined  to  charge 
for  the  pleasure  of  my  company.  But  after 
some  dispute,  they  agreed  to  compromise  by 
adjourning  to  the  Kailway  Inn,  and  drink- 
ing prosperity  to  Susan  Warne's  seventh. 


THE  CONSPIKACY  ABOAED  THE 
MIDAS. 

"  Are  you  going  home  to  England  ?  So  am 
I.  I'm  Johnny ;  and  I've  never  been  to  Eng- 
land before,  but  I  know  aU  about  it.  There's 
great  palaces  of  gold  and  ivory  —  that's  for  the 
lords  and  bishops  —  and  there's  Windsor  Castle, 
the  biggest  of  all,  carved  out  of  a  single  dia- 
mond—  that's  for  the  queen.  And  she's  the 
most  beautiful  lady  in  the  whole  world,  and 
feeds  her  peacocks  and  birds  of  paradise  out 
of  a  ruby  cup.  And  there  the  sun  is  always 
shining,  so  that  nobody  wants  any  candles.  O, 
words  would  fail  me  if  I  endeavoured  to  con- 
vey to  you  one-half  of  the  splendours  of  that 
enchanted  realm ! " 

This  last  sentence  tumbled  so  oddly  from  the 
childish  lips,  that  I  could  not  hide  a  smile  as  I 
looked  down  on  my  visitor.  He  stood  just  out- 
side my  cabin-door  —  a  small  serious  boy  of 
about  eight,  with  long  flaxen  curls  hardly  dry 

71 


72  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

from  his  morning  bath.  In  the  pauses  of  con- 
versation he  rubbed  his  head  with  a  big  bath- 
towel.  His  legs  and  feet  were  bare,  and  he 
wore  only  a  little  shirt  and  velveteen  breeches, 
with  scarlet  ribbons  hanging  untied  at  the 
knees. 

"  You're  laughing ! " 

I  stifled  the  smile. 

"  What  were  you  laughing  at  ? " 

"  "Why,  you're  wrong,  little  man,  on  just  one 
or  two  points,"  I  answered  evasively. 

"Which?" 

"  Well,  about  the  sunshine  in  England.  The 
sun  is  not  always  shining  there,  by  any  means." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  know  very  little  about  it," 
said  the  boy,  shaking  his  head. 

"Johnny!  Johnny!"  a  voice  called  down 
the  companion-ladder  at  this  moment.  It  was 
followed  by  a  thin,  weary-looking  man,  dressed 
in  carpet  slippers  and  a  suit  of  seedy  black.  I 
guessed  his  age  at  fifty,  but  suspect  now  that 
the  lines  about  his  somewhat  prim  mouth  were 
traced  there  by  sorrows  rather  than  by  years. 
He  bowed  to  me  shyly,  and  addressed  the  boy. 

"  Johnny,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  in  bare 
feet  I" 


CONSPIRACY  ABOARD   THE  ''MIDAS."       78 

"Father,  here  is  a  man  who  says  the  sun 
doesn't  always  shine  in  England." 

The  man  gave  me  a  fleeting  embarrassed 
glance,  and  echoed,  as  if  to  shirk  answering  — 

"  In  bare  feet ! " 

"  But  it  does,  doesn't  it  ?  Tell  him  that  it 
does,"  the  child  insisted. 

Driven  thus  into  a  corner,  the  father  turned 
his  profile,  avoiding  my  eyes,  and  said  dully  — 

"  The  sun  is  always  shining  in  England." 

"  Go  on,  father ;  teU  him  the  rest^' 

"  —  and  the  use  of  candles,  except  as  a  lux- 
ury, is  consequently  unknown  to  the  denizens 
of  that  favoured  clime,"  he  wound  up,  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  who  repeats  an  old,  old  lecture. 

Johnny  was  turning  to  me  triumphantly, 
when  his  father  caught  him  by  the  hand  and 
led  him  back  to  his  dressing.  The  movement 
was  hasty,  almost  rough.  I  stood  at  the  cabin- 
door  and  looked  after  them. 

"We  were  fellow-passengers  aboard  the  Midas, 
a  merchant  barque  of  near  on  a  thousand  tons, 
homeward  bound  from  Cape  Town;  and  we 
had  lost  sight  of  the  Table  Mountain  but  a 
couple  of  days  before.  It  was  the  first  week  of 
the  new  year,  and  aU  day  long  a  fiery  sun  made 


74  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

life  below  deck  insupportable.  Nevertheless, 
though  we  three  were  the  only  passengers  on 
board,  and  lived  constantly  in  sight  of  each 
other,  it  was  many  days  before  I  made  any 
further  acquaintance  with  Johnny  and  his 
father.  The  sad-faced  man  clearly  desired  to 
avoid  me,  answering  my  nod  with  a  cold  em- 
barrassment, and  clutching  Johnny's  hand  when- 
ever the  child  called  "  Good-morning ! "  to  me 
cordially.  I  fancied  him  ashamed  of  his  foolish 
falsehood ;  and  I,  on  my  side,  was  angry  because 
of  it.  The  pair  were  for  ever  strolling  back- 
wards and  forwards  on  deck,  or  resting  beneath 
the  awning  on.  the  poop,  and  talking  —  always 
talking.  I  fancied  the  boy  was  delicate ;  he 
certainly  had  a  bad  cough  during  the  first  few 
days.  But  this  went  away  as  our  voyage  pro- 
ceeded, and  his  colour  was  rich  and  rosy. 

One  afternoon  I  caught  a  fragment  of  their 
talk  as  they  passed,  Johnny  brightly  dressed 
and  smiling,  his  father  looking  even  more 
shabby  and  weary  than  usual.  The  man  was 
speaking. 

"And  Queen  Victoria  rides  once  a  year 
through  the  streets  of  London  on  her  milk- 
white  courser,  to  hear  the  nightingales  sing  in 


CONSPIRACY  ABOARD  THE  "  MIDAS:'       75 

the  Tower.  For  when  she  came  to  the  throne 
the  Tower  was  full  of  prisoners,  but  with  a 
stroke  of  her  sceptre  she  changed  them  all 
into  song-birds.  Every  year  she  releases  fifty ; 
and  that  is  why  they  sing  so  rapturously, 
because  each  one  hopes  his  turn  has  come  at 
last." 

I  turned  away.  It  was  unconscionable  to 
cram  the  child's  mind  with  these  preposterous 
fables.  I  pictured  the  poor  little  chap's  disap- 
pointment when  the  bleak  reality  came  to  stare 
him  in  the  face.  To  my  mind,  his  father  was 
worse  than  an  idiot,  and  I  could  hardly  bring 
myself  to  greet  him  next  morning,  when  we 
met. 

My  disgust  did  not  seem  to  trouble  him.  In 
a  timid  way,  even,  his  eyes  expressed  satisfac- 
tion. For  a  week  or  two  I  let  him  alone,  and 
then  was  forced  to  speak. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  "We  had  spun 
merrily  along  the  tail  of  the  S.E.  trades  and 
glided  slowly  to  a  standstill  on  a  glassy  ocean, 
and  beneath  a  sun  that  at  noon  left  us  shadow- 
less. A  fluke  or  two  of  wind  had  helped  us 
across  the  line ;  but  now,  in  2°  27'  north  lati- 
tude, the  Midas  slept  like  a  turtle  on  the  greasy 


76  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

sea.  The  heat  of  the  near  African  coast  seemed 
to  beat  like  steam  against  our  faces.  The  pitch 
bubbled  like  caviare  in  the  seams  of  the  white 
deck,  and  the  shrouds  and  ratlines  ran  with 
tears  of  tar.  To  touch  the  brass  rail  of  the 
poop  was  to  blister  the  hand,  to  catch  a  whiff 
from  the  cook's  galley  was  to  feel  sick  for  ten 
minutes.  The  hens  in  their  coops  lay  with 
eyes  glazed,  and  gasped  for  air.  If  you  hung 
forward  over  the  bulwarks  you  stared  down 
into  your  own  face.  The  sailors  grumbled  and 
cursed  and  panted  as  they  huddled  forward 
under  a  second  awning  that  was  rigged  up  to 
give  them  shade  rather  than  coolness ;  for  cool- 
ness was  not  to  be  had. 

On  the  second  afternoon  of  the  calm  I  hap- 
pened to  pass  this  awning,  and  glanced  in. 
Pretty  well  all  the  men  were  there,  lounging, 
with  shirts  open  and  chests  streaming  with 
sweat;  and  in  their  midst,  on  a  barrel,  sat 
Johnny,  with  a  flushed  face. 

The  boatswain  —  Gibbings  by  name  —  was 
speaking.  I  heard  him  say  —  "An'  the  Lord 
Mayor  'U  be  down  to  meet  us,  sonny,  at  the 
docks,  wi'  his  five-an'-flfty  black  boys  all  a- 
blowin'  Hallelujarum  on  their  silver  key-bugles. 


CONSPlBACr  ABOARD  THE  ''MIDAS.''       77 

An'  we'll  be  took  in  tow  to  the  Mansh'n  'Ouse 
an'  fed  — "  here  he  broke  off  and  passed  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  mouth,  with  a 
glance  at  the  ship's  cook,  who  had  been  driven 
from  his  galley  by  the  heat.  But  the  cook  had 
no  suggestions  to  make.  His  soul  was  still  sick 
with  the  reek  of  the  boiled  pork  and  pease 
pudding  he  had  cooked  two  hours  before  under 
a  torrid  and  vertical  sun. 

"  We'll  put  it  at  hokey-pokey,  nothin'  a  lump, 
if  you  don't  mind,  sonny,"  the  boatswain  went 
on ;  "  in  a  nice  airy  parlour  painted  white,  with 
a  gUt  chandelier  an'  gilt  combings  to  the 
wainscot."  His  picture  of  the  Mansion  House 
as  he  proceeded  was  drawn  from  his  reading 
in  the  Book  of  Kevelations  and  his  own  recol- 
lections of  Thames-side  gin-palaces  and  the 
saloons  of  passenger  steamers,  and  gave  the  im- 
pression of  a  virtuous  gambling-hell.  The  whole 
crew  listened  admiringly,  and  it  seemed  they 
were  all  in  the  stupid  conspiracy.  I  resolved, 
for  Johnny's  sake,  to  protest,  and  that  very- 
evening  drew  Gibbings  aside  and  expostulated 
with  him. 

"Why,"  I  asked,  "lay  up  this  cruel,  this 
certain    disappointment   for  the    little    chap? 


78  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"Why  yarn  to  him  as  if  he  were  bound  for  the 
New  Jerusalem  ? " 

The  boatswain  stared  at  me  point-blank,  at 
first  incredulously,  then  with  something  like  pity. 

"  "Why,  sir,  don't  you  know  ?  Can't  you  see 
for  yoursel'  ?  It's  because  he  is  bound  for  the 
New  Jeroosalem;  because — bless  his  tender 
soul ! — that's  all  the  land  he'll  ever  touch." 

"  Good  Lord ! "  I  cried.  "  Nonsense !  His 
cough's  better ;  and  look  at  his  cheeks." 

"Ay  —  we  knows  that  colour  on  this  line. 
His  cough's  better,  you  say ;  and  I  say  this 
weather's  killing  him.  You  just  wait  for  the 
nor'-east  trades." 

I  left  Gibbings,  and  after  pacing  up  and 
down  the  deck  a  few  times,  stepped  to  the 
bulwarks,  where  a  dark  figure  was  leaning  and 
gazing  out  over  the  black  waters.  Johnny  was 
in  bed ;  and  a  great  shame  swept  over  me  as 
I  noted  the  appealing  wretchedness  of  this 
lonely  form. 

I  stepped  up  and  touched  him  softly  on  the 
arm. 

"  Sir,  I  am  come  to  beg  your  forgiveness." 

Next  morning  I  joined  the  conspiracy. 


CONSPIRACY  ABOARD  THE  ''MIDAS."       79 

After  his  father,  I  became  Johnny's  most 
constant  companion.  "  Father  disliked  you  at 
first,"  was  the  child's  frank  comment ;  "  he 
said  you  told  fibs,  but  now  he  wants  us  to  be 
friends."  And  we  were  excellent  friends.  I  lied 
from  morning  to  night  —  lied  glibly,  grandly. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  as  I  lay  awake  in  my 
berth,  a  horror  took  me  lest  the  springs  of  my 
imagination  should  run  dry.  But  they  never 
did.  As  a  liar,  I  out-classed  every  man  on 
board. 

But  by-and-bye,  as  we  caught  the  first 
draught  of  the  trades,  the  boy  began  to  punc- 
tuate my  fables  with  that  hateful  cough.  This 
went  on  for  a  week  ;  and  one  day,  in  the  midst 
of  our  short  stroll,  his  legs  gave  way  under 
him.  As  I  caught  him  in  my  arms,  he  looked 
up  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  very  weak,  you  know.  But  it'll  be  all 
right  when  I  get  to  England." 

But  it  was  not  till  we  had  passed  well  beyond 
the  equatorial  belt  that  Johnny  grew  visibly 
worse.  In  a  week  he  had  to  lie  still  on  his 
couch  beneath  the  awning,  and  the  patter  of 
his  feet  ceased  on  the  deck.  The  captain,  who 
was  a  bit  of  a  doctor,  said  to  me  one  day  — 


80  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"He  will  never  live  to  see  England." 

But  he  did. 

It  was  a  soft  spring  afternoon  when  the 
Midas  sighted  the  Lizard,  and  Johnny  was  still 
with  us,  lying  on  his  couch,  though  almost  too 
weak  to  move  a  limb.  As  the  day  wore  on 
we  lifted  him  once  or  twice  to  look. 

"  Can  you  see  them  quite  plain  ? "  he  asked ; 
"and  the  precious  stones  hanging  on  the 
trees?  And  the  palaces  —  and  the  white  ele- 
phants ? " 

I  stared  through  my  glass  at  the  serpentine 
rocks  and  white- washed  lighthouse  above  them, 
all  powdered  with  bronze  and  gold  by  the  sink- 
ing sun,  and  answered — 

"  Yes,  they  are  all  there." 

All  that  afternoon  we  were  beside  him,  look- 
ing out  and  peopling  the  shores  of  home  with 
all  manner  of  vain  shows  and  pageants;  and 
when  one  man  broke  down  another  took  his 
place. 

As  the  sun  fell,  and  twilight  drew  on,  the 
bright  revolving  lights  on  the  two  towers  sud- 
denly flashed  out  their  greeting.  We  were 
about  to  carry  the  child  below,  for  the  air  was 


CONSPIRACY  ABOARD  THE  "  MID  A  8.''       81 

chilly;  but  he  saw  the  flash,  and  held  up  a 
feeble  hand. 

"What  is  that?" 

"Those  two  lights,"  I  answered,  telling  my 
final  lie,  "  are  the  lanterns  of  Cormelian  and 
Cormoran,  the  two  Cornish  giants.  They'll  be 
standing  on  the  shore  to  welcome  us.  See  — 
each  swings  his  lantern  round,  and  then  for  a 
moment  it  is  dark ;  now  wait  a  moment,  and 
you'll  see  the  light  again." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  child,  with  a  smile  and  a 
little  sigh,  "it  is  good  to  be  —  home!" 

And  with  that  word  on  his  lips,  as  he  waited 
for  the  next  flash,  Johnny  stretched  himself 
and  died. 


LEGENDS  OF  ST.  PIKAN. 


I.  — SAINT  PIRAN  AND  THE  MILL- 
STONE. 

Should  you  visit  the  Blackmore  tin-streamers 
on  their  feast-day,  which  falls  on  Friday-in-Lide 
(that  is  to  say,  the  first  Friday  in  March),  you 
may  note  a  truly  Celtic  ceremony.  On  that  day 
the  tinners  pick  out  the  sleepiest  boy  in  the 
neighbourhood  and  send  him  up  to  the  highest 
hound  in  the  works,  with  instructions  to  sleep 
there  as  long  as  he  can.  And  by  immemorial 
usage  the  length  of  his  nap  will  be  the  measure 
of  the  tinners'  afternoon  siesta  for  twelve 
months  to  come. 

Now,  this  first  week  in  March  is  St.  Piran's 
week :  and  St.  Piran  is  the  miners'  saint.  To 
him  the  Cornishmen  owe  not  only  their  tin, 
which  he  discovered  on  the  spot,  but  also  their 
divine  laziness,  which  he  brought  across  from 
Ireland  and  naturalised  here.  And  I  learned 
his  story  one  day  from  an  old  miner,  as  we  ate 
our  bread  and  cheese  together  on  the  floor  of 

85 


86  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

Wheal  Tregobbin,  while  the  Davy  lamp  between 
us  made  wavering  giants  of  our  shadows  on  the 
walls  of  the  adit,  and  the  sea  moaned  as  it 
tossed  on  its  bed,  two  hundred  feet  above. 

St.  Piran  was  a  little  round  man;  and  in 
the  beginning  he  dwelt  on  the  north  coast  of 
Ireland,  in  a  leafy  mill,  past  which  a  stream 
came  tumbling  down  to  the  sea.  After  turning 
the  saint's  mill-wheel,  the  stream  dived  over 
a  fall  into  the  Lough  below,  and  the  lul-ul- 
ur-r-r  of  the  water-wheel  and  fall  was  a  sleepy 
music  in  the  saint's  ear  noon  and  night. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  the  miU- wheel 
ground  anything.  No;  it  went  round  merely 
for  the  sake  of  its  music.  For  all  St.  Piran' s 
business  was  the  study  of  objects  that  presented 
themselves  to  his  notice,  or,  as  he  called  it, 
the  "  Eapture  av  Contemplation "  ;  and  as  for 
his  livelihood,  he  earned  it  in  the  simplest  way. 
The  waters  of  the  Lough  below  possessed  a 
peculiar  virtue.  You  had  only  to  sink  a  log 
or  stick  therein,  and  in  fifty  years'  time  that 
log  or  stick  would  be  turned  to  stone.  St. 
Piran  was  as  quick  as  you  are  to  divine  the 
possibilities  of  easy  competence  offered  by  this 


ST.  PIBAN  AND   THE  MILLSTONE.         87 

spot.  He  took  time  by  the  forelock,  and  in 
half  a  century  was  fairly  started  in  business. 
Henceforward  he  passed  all  his  days  among 
the  rocks  above  the  fall,  whistling  to  himself 
while  he  whittled  bits  of  cork  and  wood  into 
quaint  shapes,  attached  them  to  string,  weighted 
them  with  pebbles,  and  lowered  them  over 
the  fall  into  the  Lough  —  whence,  after  fifty 
years  he  would  draw  them  forth,  and  sell  them 
to  the  simple  surrounding  peasantry  at  two 
hundred  and  fifty  per  centum  per  annum  on 
the  initial  cost. 

It  was  a  tranquil,  lucrative  employment,  and 
had  he  stuck  to  the  Eapture  of  Contemplation, 
he  might  have  ended  his  days  by  the  fall. 
But  in  an  unlucky  hour  he  undertook  to  feed 
ten  Irish  kings  and  their  armies  for  three  weeks 
anend  on  three  cows.  Even  so  he  might  have 
escaped,  had  he  only  failed.  Alas!  As  it 
was,  the  ten  kings  had  no  sooner  signed  peace 
and  drunk  together  than  they  marched  up 
to  St.  Piran's  door,  and  began  to  hold  an 
Indignation  Meeting. 

"What's  ailing  wid  ye,  then?"  asked  the 
saint,  poking  his  head  out  at  the  door;  "out 
wid  ut !     Did  I  not  stuff  ye  wid  cow-mate  galore 


88  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT, 

when  the  land  was  as  nakud  as  me  tonshure  ? 
But  'twas  three  cows  an'  a  miracle  wasted,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

"Faith,  an'  ye've  said  ut!"  answered  one 
of  the  kings.  "  Three  cows  between  tin  Oirish 
kings !  'Tis  insultin' !  Arrah,  now,  make  it 
f oive,  St.  Piran  darlint ! " 

"JSTow  may  they  make  your  stummucks 
ache  for  that  word,  ye  marautherin'  thieves 
av  the  world !  " 

And  St.  Piran  slammed  the  door  in  their 
faces. 

But  these  kings  were  Ulstermen,  and  took 
things  seriously.  So  they  went  off  and  stirred 
up  the  people :  and  the  end  was  that  one 
sunshiny  morning  a  dirty  rabble  marched  up 
to  the  miU  and  laid  hands  on  the  saint.  On 
what  charge,  do  you  think  ?  Why,  for  Being 
without  Visible  Means  of  Support ! 

"  There's  me  pethrifyin'  spicimins ! "  cried 
the  saint:  and  he  tugged  at  one  of  the  ropes 
that  stretched  down  into  the  Lough. 

"Indade!"  answered  one  of  the  ten  kings: 
"  Bad  luck  to  your  spicimins !  "  says  he. 

"Fwhat's  that  ye're  tuggin'  at?"  asks  a 
bystander. 


ST.  PIRAN  AND  THE  MILLSTONE.         89 

"  Now  the  Holy  Mother  presarve  your  eye- 
sight, Tim  Coolin,"  answers  St.  Piran,  pulling 
it  in,  "  if  ye  can't  tell  a  plain  millstone  at  foive 
paces !  I  never  asked  ye  to  see  through  ut,"  he 
added,  with  a  twinkle,  for  Tim  had  a  plentiful 
lack  of  brains,  and  that  the  company  knew. 

Sure  enough  it  was  a  millstone,  and  a  very 
neat  one ;  and  the  saint,  having  raised  a  bit  of 
a  laugh,  went  on  like  a  cheap-jack : 

"Av  there's  any  gintleman  prisunt  wid  an 
eye  for  millstones,  I'll  throuble  him  to  turn  ut 
here.  Me  own  make,"  says  he,  "  jooled  in  wan 
hole,  an'  dog-chape  at  fifteen  shillin'  —  " 

He  was  rattling  away  in  this  style  when 
somebody  called  out,  "  To  think  av  a  millstone 
bein'  a  visible  means  av  support!"  And  this 
time  the  laugh  turned  against  the  saint. 

"  St.  Piran  dear,  ye've  got  to  die,"  says  the 
spokesman. 

"  Musha,  musha ! "  — and  the  saint  set  up  a 
wail  and  wrung  his  hands.  "An'  how's  it 
goin'  to  be  ? "  he  asked,  breaking  off ;  "  an'  if 
'tis  by  Shamus  O'Neil's  blunderbust  that  he's 
fumblin'  yondther,  will  I  stand  afore  or  ahint 
ut?  for  'tis  fatal  both  ends,  I'm  thinkin',  like 
Barney  Sullivan's  mule.     Wirra,  wirra!     May 


90  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

our  souls  find  mercy,  Shamus  O'Neil,  for  we'll 
both,  be  wantin'  ut  tMs  day.  Better  for  you, 
Shamus,  that  this  millstone  was  hung  round 
your  black  neck,  an'  you  drownin'  in  the  dept's 
av  the  Lough ! " 

The  words  were  not  spoken  before  they  all 
set  up  a  shout.  "The  millstone!  the  mill- 
stone ! "  "  Sthrap  him  to  ut ! "  "  He's  named 
his  death ! "  —  and  inside  of  three  minutes 
there  was  the  saint,  strapped  down  on  his 
own  specimen. 

"  Wirra,  wirra ! "  he  cried,  and  begged  for 
mercy;  but  they  raised  a  devastating  shindy, 
and  gave  the  stone  a  trundle.  Down  the  turf 
it  rolled  and  rolled,  and  then  whoo !  leaped 
over  the  edge  of  the  fall  into  space  and  down 
—  down  —  till  it  smote  the  waters  far  below, 
and  knocked  a  mighty  hole  in  them,  and  went 
under — 

For  three  seconds  only.  The  next  thing 
that  the  rabble  saw  as  they  craned  over  the 
cliflf  was  St.  Piran  floating  quietly  out  to  sea 
on  the  millstone,  for  all  the  world  as  if  on  a 
life-belt,  and  untjring  his  bonds  to  use  for  a 
fishing-line !  You  see,  this  millstone  had  been 
made  of  cork  originally,  and  was  only  half  pet- 


8T.  PIRAN  AND   THE  MILLSTONE.         91 

rifled ;  and  the  old  boy  had  just  beguiled  them. 
When  he  had  finished  undoing  the  cords,  he 
stood  up  and  bowed  to  them  all  very  politely. 

"Visible  Manes  av  Support,  me  childher  — 
merely  Yisible  Manes  av  Support ! "  he  called 
back. 

'Twas  a  sunshiny  day,  and  while  St.  Piran 
chuckled  the  sea  twinkled  all  over  with  the 
jest.  As  for  the  crowd  on  the  cliff,  it  looked 
for  five  minutes  as  if  the  saint  had  petrified 
them  harder  than  the  millstone.  Then,  as 
Tim  Coolin  told  his  wife,  Mary  Dogherty,  that 
same  evening,  they  dispersed  promiscuously  in 
groups  of  one  each. 

Meanwhile,  the  tides  were  bearing  St.  Piran 
and  his  millstone  out  into  the  Atlantic,  and  he 
whiffed  for  mackerel  all  the  way.  And  on  the 
morrow  a  stiff  breeze  sprang  up  and  blew  him 
sou'-sou-west  until  he  spied  land;  and  so  he 
stepped  ashore  on  the  Cornish  coast. 

In  Cornwall  he  lived  many  years  till  he  died  : 
and  to  this  day  there  are  three  places  named 
after  him — Perranaworthal,  Perranuthno  and 
Perranzabuloe.  But  it  was  in  the  last  named 
that  he  took  most  delight,  because  at  Perran- 
zabuloe (Perochia  Sti.  Pirani  in  Sabulo)  there 


92  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

was  nothing  but  sand  to  distract  him  from  the 
Study  of  Objects  that  Presented  Themselves  to 
his  Notice :  for  he  had  given  up  miracles.  So 
he  sat  on  the  sands  and  taught  the  Cornish 
people  how  to  be  idle.  Also  he  discovered  tin 
for  them ;  but  that  was  an  accident. 


II.  — SAINT    PIKAN    AND    THE    VISI- 
TATION. 

A  FULL  fifty  years  had  St.  Piran  dwelt  among 
the  sandhills  between  Perranzabuloe  and  the 
sea  before  any  big  rush  of  saints  began  to 
pour  into  Cornwall :  for  'twas  not  tUl  the  old 
man  had  discovered  tin  for  us  that  they  sprang 
up  thick  as  blackberries  all  over  the  county ; 
so  that  in  a  way  St.  Piran  had  only  himself  to 
blame  when  his  idle  ways  grew  to  be  a  scandal 
by  comparison  with  the  push  and  bustle  of  the 
newcomers. 

Never  a  notion  had  he  that,  from  Rome  to 
Land's  End,  all  his  holy  brethren  were  holding 
up  their  hands  over  his  case.  He  sat  in  his 
cottage  above  the  sands  at  Perranzabuloe  and 
dozed  to  the  hum  of  the  breakers,  in  charity 
with  all  his  parishioners,  to  whom  his  money 
was  large  as  the  salt  wind ;  for  his  sleeping  part- 
nership in  the  tin-streaming  business  brought 
him  a  tidy  income.    And  the  folk  knew  that  if 

93 


94  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

ever  they  wanted  religion,  they  had  only  to 
knock  and  ask  for  it. 

But  one  fine  morning,  an  hour  before  noon, 
the  whole  parish  sprang  to  its  feet  at  the  sound 
of  a  horn.  The  blast  was  twice  repeated,  and 
came  from  the  little  cottage  across  the  sands. 

"'Tis  the  blessed  saint's  cow-horn!"  they 
told  each  other.  "  Sure  the  dear  man  must  be 
in  the  article  of  death ! "  And  they  hurried 
off  to  the  cottage,  man,  woman,  and  child :  for 
'twas  thirty  years  at  least  since  the  horn  had 
last  been  sounded. 

They  pushed  open  the  door,  and  there  sat 
St.  Piran  in  his  arm-chair,  looking  good  for 
another  twenty  years,  but  considerably  flus- 
tered. His  cheeks  were  red,  and  his  fingers 
clutched  the  cow-horn  nervously. 

"Andrew  Penhaligon,"  said  he  to  the  first 
man  that  entered,  "go  you  out  and  ring  the 
church  bell." 

Off  ran  Andrew  Penhaligon.  "  But,  blessed 
father  of  us,"  said  one  or  two,  "  we're  all  here  / 
There's  no  call  to  ring  the  church  bell,  seein' 
you're  neither  dead  nor  afire,  blessamercy ! " 

"  Oh,  if  you're  all  here,  that  alters  the  case ; 
for  'tis  only  a  proclamation  I  have  to  give  out 


ST.  PIBAN  AND   THE   VISITATION.         95 

at  present.  To-morrow  mornin', —  Glory  be  to 
God !  —  I  give  wamin'  that  Divine  service  will 
take  place  in  the  parish  church." 

"You're  sartin  you  bain't  feelin'  poorly,  St. 
Piran  dear  ? "  asked  one  of  the  women. 

"Thank  you,  Tidy  Mennear,  I'm  enjoyin' 
health.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  the  parish  church 
'11  be  needed  to-morrow,  an'  so  you'd  best  set 
to  and  clean  out  the  edifice :  for  I'm  thinkin '," 
he  added,  "  it'll  be  needin'  that." 

"To  be  sure,  St.  Piran  dear,  we'll  humour 
ye." 

"'Tisn'  that  at  all,"  the  saint  answered; 
"but  I've  had  a  vision." 

"Don't  you  often?" 

"  H'm !  but  this  was  a  peculiar  vision ;  or 
maybe  a  bit  of  a  birdeen  whispered  it  into  my 
ear.  Anyway,  'twas  revealed  to  me  just  now 
in  a  dream  that  I  stood  on  the  lawn  at  Bodmin 
Priory,  and  peeped  in  at  the  Priory  window. 
An'  there  in  the  long  hall  sat  all  the  saints 
together  at  a  big  table  covered  with  red  baize 
and  plotted  against  us.  There  was  St.  Petroc 
in  the  chair,  with  St.  Guron  by  his  side,  an' 
St.  Neot,  St.  Udy,  St.  Teath,  St.  Keverne,  St. 
Wen,  St.  Probus,  St.  Enodar,  St.  Just,  St.  Fim- 


96  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

barrus,  St.  Clether,  St.  Germoe,  St.  Veryan,  St. 
Winnock,  St.  Minver,  St.  Anthony,  with  the 
virgins  Grace,  and  Sinara,  and  Iva  —  the  whole 
passel  of  'em.  An'  they  were  agreein'  there 
was  no  holiness  left  in  this  parish  of  mine ;  an' 
speakin'  shame  of  me,  my  childer  —  of  me,  that 
have  banked  your  consciences  these  fifty  years, 
and  always  been  able  to  pay  on  demand :  the 
more  by  token  that  I  kept  a  big  reserve,  an' 
you  knew  it.  Answer  me :  when  was  there 
ever  a  panic  in  Perranzabuloe  ?  '  'Twas  all 
very  well,'  said  St.  Neot,  when  his  turn  came 
to  speak,  '  but  this  state  o'  things  ought  to  be 
exposed.'  He's  as  big  as  bull's  beef,  is  St.  Keot, 
ever  since  he  worked  that  miracle  over  the 
fishes,  an'  reckons  he  can  disparage  an  old  man 
who  was  makin'  millstones  to  float  when  he 
was  suckin'  a  coral.  But  the  upshot  is,  they're 
goin'  to  pay  us  a  Visitation  to-morrow,  by  sur- 
prise. And,  if  only  for  the  parish  credit,  we'll 
be  even  wid  um,  by  dad  ! " 

St.  Piran  still  lapsed  into  his  native  brogue 
when  strongly  excited. 

But  he  had  hardly  done  when  Andrew  Pen- 
haligon  came  running  in  — 

"  St.  Piran,  honey,  I've  searched  everywhere ; 


8T.  PIRAN  AND  THE  VISITATION.        97 

an'  be  hanged  to  me  if  I  can  find  the  church  at 
aU!" 

"Fwhat's  become  av  ut?"  cried  the  saint, 
sitting  up  sharply. 

"How  should  I  know?  But  devil  a  trace 
can  I  see ! " 

"  Now,  look  here,"  St.  Piran  said ;  "  the 
church  was  there,  right  enough." 

"  That's  a  true  word,"  spoke  up  an  old  man, 
"  for  I  mind  it  well.  An  elegant  tower  it  had, 
an'  a  shingle  roof." 

"Spake  up,  now,"  said  the  saint,  glaring 
around ;  "  f wich  av  ye's  gone  an'  misbestowed 
me  parush  church?  For  I  won't  believe,"  he 
said,  "  that  it's  any  worse  than  carelussness  — 
at  laste,  not  yet-a-bit." 

Some  remembered  the  church,  and  some 
did  not :  but  the  faces  of  all  were  clear  of  guilt. 
They  trooped  out  on  the  sands  to  search. 

Now,  the  sands  by  Perranzabuloe  are  for 
ever  shifting  and  driving  before  the  northerly 
and  nor'-westerly  gales ;  and  in  time  had  heaped 
themselves  up  and  covered  the  building  out  of 
sight.  To  guess  this  took  the  saint  less  time 
than  you  can  wink  your  eye  in ;  but  the  bother 
was  that  no  one  remembered  exactly  where  the 


98  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

church  had  stood,  and  as  there  were  two  score 
at  least  of  tall  mounds  along  the  shore,  and  aU 
of  pretty  equal  height,  there  was  no  knowing 
where  to  dig.  To  uncover  them  all  was  a  job 
to  last  till  doomsday. 

"  Blur-an'-agurs,  but  it's  ruined  I  am ! "  cried 
St.  Piran.  "An'  the  Yisitashun  no  further 
away  than  to-morra  at  tin  a.m. !  "  He  wrung 
his  hands,  then  caught  up  a  spade,  and  began 
digging  like  a  madman. 

They  searched  all  day,  and  with  lanterns  all 
the  night  through  :  they  searched  from  Ligger 
Point  to  Porth  Towan :  but  came  on  never  a 
sign  of  the  missing  church. 

"If  it  only  had  a  spire,"  one  said,  "there'd 
be  some  chance."  But  as  far  as  could  be 
recollected,  the  building  had  a  dumpy  tower. 

"  Once  caught,  twice  shy,"  said  another ; 
"let  us  find  it  this  once,  an'  next  time  we'll 
have  landmarks  to  dig  it  out  by." 

It  was  at  sunrise  that  St.  Piran,  worn-out 
and  heart-sick,  let  fall  his  spade  and  spoke  from 
one  of  the  tall  mounds,  where  he  had  been 
digging  for  an  hour. 

"My  children,"  he  began,  and  the  men  un- 
covered their   heads,   "  my  children,   we    are 


ST.  PIRAN  AND   THE   VISITATION.        99 

going  to  be  disgraced  this  day,  and  the  best 
we  can  do  is  to  pray  that  we  may  take  it  like 
men.     Let  us  pray." 

He  knelt  down  on  the  great  sand-hill,  and 
the  men  and  women  around  dropped  on  their 
knees  also.  And  then  St.  Piran  put  up  the 
prayer  that  has  made  his  name  famous  all  the 
world  over. 

THF  PR  A  YER   OF  ST.  PIRATE. 

Harr  us,  O  Lord,  a/ad  he  debonair  :  for  ours 
is  a  particular  case.  We  are  not  like  the  rnen 
of  St.  Neot  or  the  men  of  St.  Udy,  who  are  for 
ever  iinjporiuning  Thee  upon  the  least  occasion, 
praying  at  all  hours  a/nd  every  day  of  the  week. 
Thou  knmjoest  it  is  only  with  extreme  cause  that 
we  bring  ourseVues  to  trouble  Thee.  Therefore 
regard  our  moderation  in  time  past,  and  be 
instant  to  help  us  tww.     Amen. 

There  was  silence  for  a  full  minute  as  he 
ceased;  and  then  the  kneeling  parishioners 
lifted  their  eyes  towards  the  top  of  the  mound. 

St.  Piran  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  ! 

They  stared  into  each  other's  faces.  For  a 
while  not  a  sound  was  uttered.  Then  a  woman 
besran  to  sob  — 


100  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"  We've  lost  'en !    "We've  lost  'en ! " 

"  Like  Enoch,  lie's  been  taken ! " 

"Taken  up  in  a  chariot  an'  horses  o'  fire. 
Did  any  see  'en  go  ? " 

"  An'  what'll  we  do  without  'en  ?  Holy  St. 
Piran,  come  back  to  us ! " 

"  Hullo !  hush  a  bit  an'  hearken ! "  cried 
Andrew  Penhaligon,  lifting  a  hand. 

They  were  silent,  and  listening  as  he  com- 
manded, heard  a  muffled  voice  and  a  faint, 
calling  as  it  were  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"  Fetch  a  ladder !  "  it  said  :  "  fetch  a  ladder ! 
It's  meself  that's  found  ut,  glory  be  to  God! 
Holy  queen  av  heaven !  but  me  mouth  is  full 
av  sand,  an'  it's  burstin'  I'll  be  if  ye  don't  fetch 
a  ladder  quick !  " 

They  brought  a  ladder  and  set  it  against 
the  mound.  Three  of  the  men  climbed  up. 
At  the  top  they  found  a  big  round  hole,  from 
the  lip  of  which  they  scraped  the  sand  away, 
discovering  a  patch  of  shingle  roof,  through 
which  St.  Piran  —  whose  weight  had  increased 
of  late  —  had  broken  and  tumbled  heels  over 
head  into  his  own  church. 

Three  hours   later   there   appeared  on  the 


ST.   PIE  AN  AND   THE   VISITATION.      101 

eastern  sky-line,  against  the  yellow  blaze  of 
the  morning,  a  large  cavalcade  that  slowly 
pricked  its  way  over  the  edge  and  descended 
the  slopes  of  Newlyn  Downs.  It  was  the 
Visitation,  In  the  midst  rode  St.  Petroc,  his 
crozier  tucked  under  his  arm,  astride  a  white 
mule  with  scarlet  ear-tassels  and  bells  and  a 
saddle  of  scarlet  leather.  He  gazed  across  the 
sands  to  the  sea,  and  turned  to  St.  N^eot,  who 
towered  at  his  side  upon  a  flea-bitten  grey. 

"  The  parish  seems  to  be  deserted,"  said  he : 
"  not  a  man  nor  woman  can  I  see,  nor  a  trace 
of  smoke  above  the  chimneys." 

St.  Neot  tightened  his  thin  lips.  In  his 
secret  heart  he  was  mightily  pleased. 

"  Eight  in  the  morning,"  he  answered,  with 
a  glance  back  at  the  sun.  "  They'll  be  all  abed, 
I'll  warrant  you." 

St.  Petroc  muttered  a  threat. 

They  entered  the  village  street.  Kot  a  soul 
turned  out  at  their  coming.  Every  cottage 
door  was  fast  closed,  nor  could  any  amount  of 
knocking  eKcit  an  answer  or  entice  a  face  to 
a  window.  In  gathering  wrath  the  visiting 
saints  rode  along  the  sea-shore  to  St.  Piran's 
small  hut. 


102  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

Here  the  door  stood  open :  but  the  hut  was 
empty.  A  meagre  breakfast  of  herbs  was  set 
out  on  the  table,  and  a  brand  new  scourge 
lay  somewhat  ostentatiously  beside  the  platter. 
The  visitors  stood  nonplussed,  looked  at  each 
other,  then  eyed  the  landscape.  Between  bar- 
ren sea  and  barren  downs  the  beach  stretched 
away,  with  not  a  human  shape  in  sight.  St. 
Petroc,  choking  with  impotent  wrath,  appeared 
to  study  the  hollow  green  breakers  from  be- 
tween the  long  ears  of  his  mule,  but  with 
quick  sidelong  glances  right  and  left,  ready  to 
jump  down  the  throat  of  the  first  saint  that 
dared  to  smile. 

After  a  minute  or  so  St.  Enodar  suddenly 
turned  his  face  inland,  and  held  up  a  finger. 

"  Hark ! "  he  shouted  above  the  roar  of  the 
sea. 

"What  is  it?" 

"It  sounds  to  me,"  said  St.  Petroc,  after 
listening  for  some  moments  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  "  it  sounds  to  me  like  a  hymn." 

"  To  be  sure  'tis  a  hymn,"  said  St.  Enodar, 
"and  the  tune  is  'Mullyon,'  for  a  crown." 
And  he  pursed  up  his  lips  and  followed  the 
chant,  beating  time  with  his  forefinger — 


ST.  PIRAN  AND  THE  VISITATION.      103 

"  When,  like  a  thief,  the  Midicmite 
Shall  steal  upon  the  camp, 
O,  let  himjmd  our  armour  bright. 
Arid  oil  within  our  lamp  !  " 

"But  where  in  the  world  does  it  come 
from?"  asked  St.  Neot. 

This  could  not  be  answered  for  the  moment ; 
but  the  saints  turned  their  horses'  heads  from 
the  sea,  and  moved  slowly  on  the  track  of  the 
sound,  which  at  every  step  grew  louder  and 
more  distinct, 

'''•It  is  at  no  appointed  hours. 
It  is  not  hy  the  cloch, 
That  Satan,  grisly  wolf,  devours 
The  wnprotected  flocks 

The  visitors  found  themselves  at  the  foot  of 
an  enormous  sand-hill,  from  the  top  of  which 
the  chant  was  pouring  as  lava  from  a  crater. 
They  set  their  ears  to  the  sandy  wall.  They 
walked  round  it,  and  listened  again. 

^^  But  ever  prowls  tK  insidious  foe, 
And  listens  round  the  fold" 

This  was  too  much.     St.  Petroc  smote  twice 


104  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

upon  the  sand-hill  with  his  crozier,  and 
shouted  — 

"  Hi,  there ! " 

The  chant  ceased.  For  at  least  a  couple  of 
minutes  nothing  happened  ;  and  then  St,  Piran's 
bald  head  was  thrust  cautiously  forward  over 
the  summit. 

"Holy  St.  Petroc!  "Was  it  only  you,  after 
all?  AndStNeot  — andSt.Udy!  O,  glory  be!" 

"  Why,  who  did  you  imagine  we  were  ? "  St. 
Petroc  asked,  still  in  amazement. 

"  Why,  throat-cutting  Danes,  to  be  sure,  by 
the  way  you  were  comin'  over  the  hills  when 
we  spied  you,  three  hours  back.  An'  the 
trouble  we've  had  to  cover  up  our  blessed 
church  out  o'  sight  of  thim  marautherin' 
thieves  !  An'  the  intire  parish  gathered  inside 
here  an'  singin'  good-by  songs  in  expectation 
of  imminent  death !  An'  to  think  'twas  you 
holy  men,  all  the  while !  But  why  didn't  ye 
send  word  ye  was  comin',  St.  Petroc,  darlint? 
For  it's  little  but  sand  ye'll  find  in  your  mouths 
for  breakfast,  I'm  thinkin'." 


m  THE  TEAIN. 


L— PUNCH'S  UNDERSTUDY. 

The  first-class  smoking  compartment  was  the 
emptiest  in  the  whole  train,  and  even  this  was 
hot  to  suffocation,  because  my  only  companion 
denied  me  more  than  an  inch  of  open  window. 
His  chest,  he  explained  curtly,  was  "suscepti- 
ble." As  we  crawled  westward  through  the 
glaring  country,  the  sun's  rays  reverberated 
on  the  carriage  roof  till  I  seemed  to  be  crushed 
under  an  anvil,  counting  the  strokes.  I  had 
dropped  my  book,  and  was  staring  listlessly 
out  of  the  window.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
compartment  my  fellow-passenger  had  pulled 
down  the  blinds,  and  hidden  his  face  behind 
the  Western  Momvng  News.  He  was  a  red 
and  choleric  little  man  of  about  sixty,  with  a 
protuberant  stomach,  a  prodigious  nose,  to 
which  he  carried  snuff  about  once  in  two 
minutes,  and  a  marked  deformity  of  the  shoul- 
ders. For  comfort  —  and  also,  perhaps,  to  hide 
this  hump — he  rested  his  back  in  the  angle  by 
107 


108  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

the  window.  He  wore  a  black  alpaca  coat,  a 
high  stock,  white  waistcoat,  and  trousers  of 
shepherd's  plaid.  On  these  and  a  few  other 
trivial  details  I  built  a  lazy  hypothesis  that  he 
was  a  lawyer,  and  unmarried. 

Just  before  entering  the  station  at  Lost- 
withiel,  our  train  passed  between  the  white 
gates  of  a  level  crossing.  A  moment  before  I 
had  caught  sight  of  the  George  drooping  from 
the  church  spire,  and  at  the  crossing  I  saw  it 
was  regatta-day  in  the  small  town.  The  road 
was  thick  with  people  and  lined  with  sweet- 
standings  ;  and  by  the  near  end  of  the  bridge 
a  Punch-and-Judy  show  had  just  closed  a  per- 
formance. The  orchestra  had  unloosed  his 
drum,  and  fallen  to  mopping  the  back  of  his 
neck  with  the  red  handkerchief  that  had  pre- 
viously bound  the  panpipes  to  his  chin.  A 
crowd  still  loitered  around,  and  among  it  I 
noted  several  men  and  women  in  black  —  ugly 
stains  upon  the  pervading  sunshine. 

The  station  platform  was  cram-full  as  we 
drew  up,  and  it  was  clear  at  once  that  all  the 
carriages  in  the  train  would  be  besieged,  with- 
out regard  to  class.  By  some  chance,  however, 
ours  was  neglected,  and  until  the  very  last 


PUNCH'S   UNDERSTUDY,  109 

moment  we  seemed  likely  to  escape.  The 
guard's  whistle  was  between  his  lips  when  I 
heard  a  shout,  then  one  or  two  feminine  screams, 
and  a  company  of  seven  or  eight  persons  came 
charging  out  of  the  booking-office.  Every  one 
of  them  was  apparelled  in  black:  they  were, 
in  fact,  the  people  I  had  seen  gaping  at  the 
Punch-and- Judy  show. 

In  a  moment  one  of  the  men  tore  open 
the  door  of  our  compartment,  and  we  were 
invaded.  One  —  two  —  four  —  six  —  seven  — 
in  they  poured,  tumbling  over  my  legs,  panting, 
giggling  inanely,  exhorting  each  other  to  hurry 
—  an  old  man,  two  youths,  three  middle-aged 
women,  and  a  little  girl  about  four  years  old. 
I  heard  a  fierce  guttural  sound,  and  saw  my 
fellow-passenger  on  his  feet,  choking  with 
wrath  and  gesticulating.  But  the  guard 
slammed  the  door  on  his  resentment,  and 
the  train  moved  on.  As  it  gathered  speed 
he  fell  back,  all  purple  above  his  stock, 
snatched  his  malacca  walking-oane  from  under 
the  coat-tails  of  a  subsiding  youth,  stuck  it 
upright  between  his  knees,  and  glared  round 
upon  the  intruders.  They  were  stiU  possessed 
with  excitement  over  their  narrow  escape,  and 


110  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCRT. 

unconscious  of  offence.  One  of  the  women 
dropped  into  the  corner  seat,  and  took  the 
little  girl  on  her  lap.  The  child's  dusty  boots 
rubbed  against  the  old  gentleman's  trousers. 
He  shifted  his  position,  grunted,  and  took  snuff 
furiously. 

"That  was  nibby-jibby,"  observed  the  old 
man  of  the  party,  while  his  eyes  wandered 
round  for  a  seat. 

"I  declare  I  thought  I  should  ha'  died," 
panted  a  robust-looking  woman  with  a  wart 
on  her  cheek,  and  a  yard  of  crape  hanging 
from  her  bonnet.  "  Can't  'een  find  nowhere  to 
sit,  uncle  ? " 

"Keckon  I  must  make  shift  'pon  your  lap, 
Susannah." 

This  was  said  with  a  chuckle,  and  the  woman 
tittered. 

"  What  new-fang'd  game  be  this  o'  the  Great 
Western's  ?  Arms  to  the  seats,  I  vow.  We'll 
have  to  sit  intimate,  my  dears." 

"  'Tis  First  Class,"  one  of  the  young  men 
announced  in  a  chastened  whisper :  "  I  saw  it 
written  on  the  door." 

There  was  a  short  silence  of  awe. 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Susannah:  "I  thought. 


PUNCH'S    UNDERSTUDY.  Ill 

when  first  I  sat  down,  that  the  cushions  felt 
extraordinary  plum.  You  don't  think  they'll 
fine  us  ? " 

"  It  all  comes  of  our  stoppin'  to  gaze  at  that 
Punch-an'-Judy,"  the  old  fellow  went  on,  after 
I  had  shown  them  how  to  turn  back  the  arm- 
seats,  and  they  were  settled  in  something  like 
comfort.  "  But  I  never  could  refrain  from 
that  antic,  though  I  feels  condemned  too,  in 
a  way,  an'  poor  Thomas  laid  in  earth  no  longer 
ago  than  twelve  noon.  But  in  the  midst  of 
life  we  are  in  death." 

"  I  don't  remember  a  more  successful  buryin'," 
said  the  woman  who  held  the  little  girl. 

"  That  was  partly  luck,  as  you  may  say,  it 
bein'  regatta-day  an'  the  fun  o'  the  fair  not 
properly  begun.  I  counted  a  lot  at  the  ceme- 
tery I  didn'  know  by  face,  an'  I  set  'em  down 
for  excursionists,  that  caught  sight  of  a  funeral, 
an'  followed  it  to  fill  up  the  time." 

"  It  all  added." 

"  Oh,  aye ;  Thomas  was  beautifully  interred." 

By  this  time  the  heat  in  the  carriage  was 
hardly  more  overpowering  than  the  smell  of 
crape,  broadcloth,  and  camphor.  The  youth 
who  had  wedged  himself  next  to  me  carried 


112  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

a  large  packet  of  "fairing,"  which  he  had 
bought  at  one  of  the  sweet-stalls.  He  began 
to  insert  it  into  his  side  pocket,  and  in  his 
struggles  drove  an  elbow  sharply  into  my  ribs. 
I  shifted  my  position  a  little. 

"  Tom's  wife  would  ha'  felt  it  a  source  o' 
pride,  had  she  lived." 

But  I  ceased  to  listen ;  for  in  moving  I  had 
happened  to  glance  at  the  further  end  of  the 
carriage,  and  there  my  attention  was  arrested 
by  a  curious  little  piece  of  pantomime.  The 
little  girl  —  a  dark-eyed,  intelligent  child,  whose 
pallor  was  emphasised  by  the  crape  which 
smothered  her  —  was  looking  very  closely  at 
the  old  gentleman  with  the  hump  —  staring  at 
him  hard,  in  fact.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
leaning  forward,  with  both  hands  on  the  knob 
of  his  malacca,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  floor  and 
his  mouth  squared  to  the  surliest  expression. 
He  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  her  scrutiny, 
and  was  tapping  one  foot  impatiently  on  the 
floor. 

After  a  minute  I  was  surprised  to  see  her 
lean  forward  and  touch  him  gently  on  the 
knee. 

He  took  no  notice  beyond  shuffling  about  a 


PUNCH'S   UNDERSTUDY.  113 

little  and  uttering  a  slight  growl.  The  woman 
who  held  her  put  out  an  arm  and  drew  back 
the  child's  hand  reprovingly.  The  child  paid 
no  heed  to  this,  but  continued  to  stare.  Then 
in  another  minute  she  again  bent  forward,  and 
tapped  the  old  gentleman's  knee. 

This  time  she  fetched  a  louder  growl  from 
him,  and  an  irascible  glare.  Not  in  the  least 
daunted,  she  took  hold  of  his  malacca,  and 
shook  it  to  and  fro  in  her  small  hand. 

"I  wish  to  heavens,  madam,  you'd  keep 
your  child  to  yourself !  " 

"  For  shame,  Annie ! "  whispered  the  poor 
woman,  cowed  by  his  look. 

But  again  Annie  paid  no  heed.  Instead,  she 
pushed  the  malacca  towards  the  old  gentleman, 
saying  — 

"Please,  sir,  wiU  'ee  warm  Mister  Barrabel 
wi'  this  ? " 

He  moved  uneasily,  and  looked  harshly  at 
her  without  answering.  "  For  shame,  Annie  I " 
the  woman  murmured  a  second  time ;  but  I 
saw  her  lean  back,  and  a  tear  started  and  rolled 
down  her  cheek. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  repeated  Annie,  "  will 
'ee  warm  Mister  Barrabel  wi'  this  ? " 


114  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

The  old  gentleman  stared  round  the  carriage. 
In  his  eyes  you  could  read  the  question,  "  What 
in  the  devil's  name  does  the  chUd  mean  ? " 
The  robust  woman  read  it  there,  and  answered 
him  huskily  — 

"Poor  mite!  she's  buried  her  father  this 
mornin' ;  an'  Mister  Barrabel  is  the  coflBn-maker, 
an'  nailed  'en  down." 

"  Kow,"  said  Annie,  this  time  eagerly,  "  will 
'ee  warm  him  same  as  the  big  doll  did  just 
now  ? " 

Luckily,  the  old  gentleman  did  not  under- 
stand this  last  allusion.  He  had  not  seen  the 
group  around  the  Punch-and- Judy  show ;  nor, 
if  he  had,  is  it  likely  he  would  have  guessed 
the  train  of  thought  in  the  child's  mind.  But 
to  me,  as  I  looked  at  my  fellow-passenger's 
nose  and  the  deformity  of  his  shoulders,  and 
remembered  how  Punch  treats  the  undertaker 
in  the  immortal  drama,  it  was  all  plain  enough. 
I  glanced  at  the  child's  companions.  Nothing 
in  their  faces  showed  that  they  took  the  allu- 
sion ;  and  the  next  moment  I  was  glad  to  think 
that  I  alone  knew  what  had  prompted  Annie's 
speech. 

For    the    next    moment,   with    a    beautiful 


PUNCH'S    UNDERSTUDY.  115 

change  on  his  face,  the  old  gentleman  had 
taken  the  child  on  his. knee,  and  was  talking 
to  her  as  I  dare  say  he  had  never  talked  before. 

"  Are  you  her  mother  ? "  he  asked,  looking 
up  suddenly,  and  addressing  the  woman  oppo- 
site. 

"Her  mother's  been  dead  these  two  year. 
I'm  her  aunt,  an'  I'm  takin'  her  home  to  rear 
'long  wi'  my  own  childer." 

He  was  bending  over  Annie,  and  had  re- 
sumed his  chat.  It  was  all  nonsense  —  some- 
thing about  the  silver  knob  of  his  malacca — 
but  it  took  hold  of  the  child's  fancy  and  com- 
forted her.  At  the  next  station  I  had  to  alight, 
for  it  was  the  end  of  my  journey.  But  looking 
back  into  the  carriage  as  I  shut  the  door,  I 
saw  Annie  bending  forward  over  the  walking- 
stick,  and  following  the  pattern  of  its  silver- 
work  with  her  small  finger.  Her  face  was 
turned  from  the  old  gentleman's,  and  behind 
her  little  black  hat  his  eyes  were  glistening. 


II.  — A  COKRECTED  CONTEMPT. 

The  whistles  had  sounded,  and  we  were 
already  moving  slowly  out  of  St.  David's  Sta- 
tion, Exeter,  to  continue  our  journey  westward, 
when  the  door  was  pulled  open  and  a  brown 
bag,  followed  by  a  whiff  of  Millefleurs  and  an 
over-dressed  young  man,  came  flying  into  the 
compartment  where  I  sat  alone  and  smoked. 

The  youth  scrambled  to  a  seat  as  the  door 
slammed  behind  him;  remarked  that  it  was 
"  a  near  shave " ;  and  laughed  nervously  as  if 
to  assure  me  that  he  found  it  a  joke.  His  face 
was  pink  with  running,  and  the  colour  con- 
trasted unpleasantly  with  his  pale  sandy  hair 
and  moustache.  He  wore  a  light  check  suit, 
a  light-blue  tie  knotted  through  a  "Mizpah" 
ring,  a  white  straw  hat  with  a  blue  ribbon, 
and  two  finger-rings  set  with  sham  diamonds 
—  altogether  the  sort  of  outfit  that  its  owner 
would  probably  have  described  as  "rather 
nobby."     Feeling  that  just  now  it  needed  a 

117 


118  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

few  repairs,  he  opened  the  bag,  pulled  out  a 
duster  and  flicked  away  for  half-a-minute  at 
his  brown  boots.  Next  with  a  handkerchief 
he  mopped  his  face  and  wiped  round  the  inner 
edge  first  of  his  straw  hat,  and  then  of  his 
collar  and  cuffs.  After  this  he  stood  up,  shook 
his  trousers  tiU  they  hung  with  a  satisfying 
gracefulness,  produced  a  cigar-case  —  covered 
with  forget-me-nots  in  crewel  work  —  and  a 
copy  of  the  Sporting  Times,  sat  down  again, 
and  asked  me  if  I  could  oblige  him  with  a 
light. 

I  think  the  train  had  neared  Dawlish  before 
the  cigar  was  fairly  started,  and  his  pink  face 
hidden  behind  the  pink  newspaper.  But  even 
so  between  the  red  sandstone  cliffs  and  the 
wholesome  sea  this  pink  thing  would  not  sit 
stiU.  His  diamond  rings  kept  flirting  round 
the  edge  of  the  Sporting  Times,  his  brown 
boots  shifting  their  position  on  the  cushion  in 
front  of  him,  his  legs  crossing,  uncrossing, 
recrossing,  his  cigar-smoke  rising  in  quick, 
uneasy  puffs. 

Between  Teignmouth  and  Newton  Abbot 
this  restlessness  increased.  He  dropped  some 
cigar-ash  on  his  waistcoat  and  arose  to  shake 


A   COBBECTED   CONTEMPT.  119 

it  off.  Twice  or  thrice  tie  picked  up  the  paper 
and  set  it  down  again.  As  we  ran  into  Newton 
Abbot  Station,  he  came  over  to  my  side  of 
the  carriage  and  scanned  the  small  crowd  upon 
the  platform.  Suddenly  his  pink  cheeks  flushed 
to  crimson.  The  train  was  slowing  to  a  stand- 
still, and  while  he  hesitated  with  a  hand  on  the 
door,  a  little  old  man  came  trotting  down  the 
platform  —  a  tremulous  little  man,  in  greenish 
black  broadcloth,  eloquent  of  continued  depres- 
sion in  some  village  retail  trade.  His  watery 
eyes  shone  brimful  of  pride  and  gladness. 

"Whai,  Charley,  lad,  there  you  be,  to  be 
shure ;  an'  lookin'  as  peart  as  a  gladdy !  Shaake 
your  old  vather's  vist,  lad  —  ees  fay,  you  be 
lookin'  well ! " 

The  youth,  scorched  with  a  miserable  shame, 
stepped  out,  put  his  hand  in  his  father's,  and 
tried  to  withdraw  him  a  little  up  the  platform 
and  out  of  my  hearing. 

"  Noa,  noa ;  us'U  bide  where  us  be,  zoa's  to 
be  'andy  vur  the  train  when  her  starts  off.  Her 
doan't  stay  no  while.  I  vound  Zam  Emmet  zarv- 
ing  here  as  porter  —  you  mind  Zam  ?  Danged 
if  I  knawed  'en,  vurst  along,  the  vace  of  'en's 
that  altered :  grawed  a  beard,  her  hev.   But  her 


120  THE  DELECTABLE  BUGHT. 

zays  to  me,  '  How  be  gettin'  'long,  Isaac  ? '  an' 
then  I  zaw  who  'twas  —  an'  us  fell  to  talkin', 
and  her  zaid  the  train  staps  vaive  minnits,  no 
more  nor  less." 

His  son  interrupted  him  with  mincing  haugh- 
tiness. 

'"Ow'smothaw?" 

"Weist  an'  ailin',  poor  crittur  —  weist  an' 
ailin'.  Dree  times  her've  a-been  through  the 
galvanic  battery,  an'  might  zo  well  whistle. 
Turble  lot  o'  zickness  about.  An'  old  Miss 
Ruby's  resaigned,  an'  a  new  postmistress  come 
in  her  plaace — a  tongue-tight  pore  crittur,  an' 
talks  London.  If  you'll  b'lieve  me,  Miss  Ruby's 
been  to  Plymouth  'pon  her  zavings  an'  come 
back  wi'  vifteen  pound'  worth  of  valse  teeth  in 
her  jaws,  which,  as  I  zaid,  '  You  must  excoose 
my  plain  speakin',  but  they've  a-broadened  your 
mouth,  Miss  Ruby,  an'  I  laiked  'ee  better  as  you 
was  bevore.'  'N^ever  mind,'  her  zays,  'I  can 
chow.'  There  now,  Charley  —  zimme  I've  been 
doing  arl  the  tarlk,  an'  thy  mother'll  be  waitin' 
wi'  dree-score  o'  questions,  zoon  as  I  gets  whome. 
Her'd  ha'  comed  to  gie  thee  a  kiss,  if  her'd 
a-been  'n  a  vit  staate;  but  her's  zent  thee 
zummat  —  "  . 


A   CORRECTED  CONTEMPT.  121 

He  foraged  in  the  skirt  pockets  of  his  thread- 
bare coat  and  brought  out  a  paper  of  sand- 
wiches and  a  long-nosed  apple.  I  saw  the 
young  man  wince. 

"  Her  reckoned  you'd  veel  a  wamblin'  in  the 
stommick,  traveUin'  arl  the  waay  from  Hexeter 
to  Plymouth.  There,  stow  it  awaay.  Not 
veelin'  peckish  ?  Never  maind  :  there's  a  plenty 
o'  taime  betwix'  this  an'  Plymouth." 

"No,  thanks." 

"Tut-tut,  now  — "  He  insisted,  and  the 
packet,  on  the  white  paper  wrapper  of  which 
spots  of  grease  were  spreading,  changed  hands. 
The  little  man  peered  wistfully  up  into  his  son's 
face :  his  own  eyes  were  full  of  love,  but  seemed 
to  search  for  something. 

"  How  dost  laike  it,  up  to  Hexeter :  an'  how't 
get  along?" 

"  Kepital  —  kepital.     Give  mothaw  my  love." 

"  E'es  be  shure,  Fainely  plaized  her'll  be  to 
hear  thee'rt  zo  naicely  adrest.  Her'd  maade 
up  her  maind,  pore  zowl,  that  arl  your  buttons 
ud  be  out,  wi'  nobody  to  zee  arter  'en.  But  I 
declare  thee'rt  drest  laike  a  topsawyer." 

And  with  this  a  dead  silence  feU  between 
the  two.     The  old  man  shifted  his  weight  from 


122  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

one  foot  to  another,  and  twice  cleared  his  throat. 
The  young  counter-jumper  averted  his  eyes  from 
his  father's  quivering  lip  to  stare  up  the  plat- 
form.    The  minutes  ran  on. 

At  last  the  old  man  found  his  voice — 

"  Thic'  there's  a  stubbard  apple  you've  got  in 
your  hand," 

"  Take  your  seats,  please  ! " 

The  guard  held  the  door  while  they  shook 
hands  again,  "Charley"  leaned  out  at  the 
window  as  our  train  began  to  move, 

"Her  comes  from  the  zeccond  'spalier  past 
the  inyon-bed ;  al'ays  the  vurst  to  raipen,  thic' 
there  tree." 

The  old  fellow  broke  into  something  re- 
sembling a  run  as  he  followed  our  carriage  to 
shout  — 

"  Turble  bad  zayson  vur  zaider ! " 

With  that  he  halted  at  the  end  of  the  plat- 
form, and  watched  us  out  of  sight.  His  son 
flung  himself  on  the  seat  with  —  I  could  have 
kicked  him  for  it  —  a  deprecatory  titter.  Then 
he  drew  a  long  breath;  but  it  was  twenty 
minutes  before  his  blush  faded,  and  he  regained 
confidence  to  ask  me  for  another  light. 

Just  eighteen  months  after  I  was  travelling 


A   CORBECTED  CONTEMPT.  123 

up  to  London  in  the  Zulu  express.  A  large 
Fair  Trade  meeting  had  been  held  at  Plymouth 
the  night  before,  and  three  farmers  in  the  com- 
partment with  me  were  discussing  that  morn- 
ing's leader  in  the  Western  Daily  Mercury. 
One  of  them  had  already  been  goaded  into 
violent  speech  when  we  halted  at  Newton 
Abbot  and  another  passenger  stepped  in  —  a 
little  old  man  in  a  suit  of  black. 

I  recognised  him  at  once.  And  yet  he  was 
changed  woefully.  He  had  fallen  away  in 
flesh ;  the  lines  had  deepened  beside  his  upper 
lip;  and  in  spite  of  a  glossier  suit  he  had  an 
appearance  of  hopelessness  which  he  had  not 
worn  when  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time. 

He  took  his  seat,  looked  about  him  vacantly 
and  caught  the  eye  of  the  angry  farmer,  who 
nodded,  broke  off  his  speech  in  the  middle  of 
a  sentence,  and  asked  in  a  curiously  gentle 
voice  — 

"  Travellin'  up  to  Exeter  ? " 

The  old  man  bent  his  head  for  "  yes,"  and  I 
saw  the  tears  well  up  in  his  weak  eyes. 

"There's  no  need  vur  to  ax  your  arrand." 
The  farmer  here  dropped  his  tone  almost  to  a 
whisper. 


124  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"Naw,  naw.  I  be  goin'  up  to  berry  'en. 
Ees,  vriends,"  he  went  on,  looking  around  and 
asking,  with  that  glance,  the  sympathy  of  all 
present,  "  to  berry  my  zon,  my  clever  zon,  my 
only  zon." 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  the 
kindly  farmer  observed  — 

"  Aye,  I've  heerd  zay  a'  was  very  clever  to 
his  traade.  'Uxtable  an'  Co.,  his  employers, 
spoke  very  handsome  of  'en,  they  teU  me.  I 
can't  call  to  maind,  tho',  that  I've  a-zet  eyes 
'pon  the  young  man  since  he  was  a  little 
tacker." 

The  old  man  began  to  fumble  in  his  breast- 
pocket, and  drawing  out  a  photograph,  handed 
it  across. 

"  That's  the  last  that  was  took  of  'en." 

"Pore  young  chap,"  said  the  farmer,  hold- 
ing the  likeness  level  with  his  eyes  and  study- 
ing it ;  "  Pore  young  chap !  Zuch  a  respectable 
lad  to  look  at!  They  tell  me  a'  made  ye  a 
gude  zon,  too." 

"  Gude  ? "  The  tears  ran  down  the  father's 
face  and  splashed  on  his  hands,  trembling  as 
they  folded  over  the  knob  of  his  stout  stick. 
"Gude?    I  b'lieve,  vriends,  ye'll  call  it  gude 


A  CORRECTED  CONTEMPT.  125 

when  a  young  man  zends  the  third  o'  his 
earnin's  week  by  week  to  help  his  parents. 
That's  what  my  zon  did,  vrum  the  taime  he 
left  whome.  An'  presunts  —  never  a  month 
went  by,  but  zome  little  gift  ud  come  by  the 
postman ;  an'  little  'twas  he'd  got  to  live  'pon, 
at  the  best,  the  dear  lad  —  " 

The  farmer  was  passing  back  the  photograph. 
"May  I  see  it?"  I  asked:  and  the  old  man 
nodded. 

It  was  the  same  face  —  the  same  suit,  even 
—  that  had  roused  my  contempt  eighteen 
months  before. 


WOON  GATE. 

It  was  on  a  cold  and  drenching  afternoon  in 
October  that  I  spent  an  hour  at  "Woon  Gate : 
for  in  all  the  homeless  landscape  this  little 
round-house  offers  the  only  shelter,  its  windows 
looking  east  and  west  along  the  high-road  and 
abroad  upon  miles  of  moorland,  hedgeless, 
dotted  with  peat-ricks,  inhabited  only  by  flocks 
of  grey  geese  and  a  declining  breed  of  ponies, 
the  chartered  vagrants  of  Woon  Down.  Two 
miles  and  more  to  the  north,  and  just  under 
the  rim  of  the  horizon,  straggle  the  cottages 
of  a  few  tin-streamers,  with  their  backs  to  the 
wind.  These  look  down  across  an  arable  coun- 
try, into  which  the  women  descend  to  work 
at  seed-time  and  harvest,  and  whence,  return- 
ing, they  bring  some  news  of  the  world.  But 
Woon  Gate  lies  pemoter.  It  was  never  more 
than  a  turnpike;  and  now  the  gate  is  down, 
the  toll-keeper  dead,  and  his  widow  lives  alone 
in  the  round-house.     She  opened  the  door  to 

127 


128  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY, 

me  —  a  pleasant-faced  old  woman  of  seventy, 
in  a  muslin  cap,  red  turnover,  and  grey  gown 
hitched  very  high.  She  wore  no  shoes  inside 
her  cottage,  but  went  about  in  a  pair  of  coarse 
worsted  stockings  on  all  days  except  the  very 
rawest,  when  the  chill  of  the  lime-ash  floor 
struck  into  her  bones. 

"  May  I  wait  a  few  minutes  till  the  weather 
lifts?"  I  asked. 

She  smiled  and  seemed  almost  grateful. 

"You'm  kindly  welcome,  be  sure:  that's  if 
you  don't  mind  the  Vaccination." 

I  suppose  that  my  face  expressed  some 
wonder:  for  she  went  on,  shaking  my  drip- 
ping hat  and  hanging  it  on  a  nail  by  the 
fire  — 

"  Doctor  Eodda  '11  be  comin'  in  half-an-hour's 
time.  'Tis  district  Vaccination  to-day,  and  he 
always  inoculates  here,  'tis  so  handy." 

She  nodded  her  head  at  half  a  dozen  deal 
chairs  and  a  form  arrayed  round  the  wall 
under  a  row  of  sacred  texts  and  tradesmen's 
almanacks. 

"  There  '11  be  nine  to-day,  as  I  makes  it  out. 
I  counted  'em  up  several  times  last  night." 

It  was  evidently  a  great  day  in  her  eyes. 


WOON  GATE.  129 

"  But  you've  allowed  room  for  many  more  than 
nine,"  I  pointed  out. 

"  Why,  of  course.  There's  some  brings  their 
elder  childer  for  a  treat  —  an'  there's  always 
'Melia  Penaluna." 

I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  who  Amelia 
Penaluna  might  be,  when  my  attention  was 
drawn  to  the  small  eastern  window.  Just  out- 
side, and  but  a  dozen  paces  from  the  house,  there 
stretched  a  sullen  pond,  over  which  the  wind 
drove  in  scuds  and  whipped  the  sparse  reeds 
that  encroached  around  its  margin.  Beside  the 
further  bank  of  the  pond  the  high-road  was 
joined  by  a  narrow  causeway  that  led  down 
from  the  northern  fringe  of  "Woon  Down ;  and 
along  this  causeway  moved  a  procession  of 
women  and  children. 

They  were  about  twenty  in  all,  and,  as  they 
skirted  the  pond,  their  figures  were  sharply 
silhouetted  against  the  grey  sky.  Each  of  the 
women  held  a  baby  close  to  her  breast  and  bent 
over  it  as  she  advanced  against  the  wind,  that 
beat  her  gown  tightly  against  her  legs  and  blew 
it  out  behind  in  bellying  folds.  Yet  beneath 
their  uncouth  and  bedraggled  garments  they 
moved  like  mothers  of  a  mighty  race,  tall,  large- 


130  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

limbed,  broad  of  hip,  hiding  generous  breasts 
beneath  the  shawls  —  red,  grey,  and  black  — 
that  covered  their  babes  from  the  wind  and 
rain.  A  few  of  the  children  struggled  forward 
under  ricketty  umbrellas ;  but  the  mothers  had 
their  hands  full,  and  strode  along  unsheltered. 
More  than  one,  indeed,  faced  the  storm  without 
bonnet  or  covering  for  the  head ;  and  all  marched 
along  the  causeway  like  figures  on  some  sculpt- 
ured frieze,  their  shadows  broken  beneath  them 
on  the  ruffled  surface  of  the  pond.  I  said  that 
each  of  the  women  carried  a  babe :  but  there 
was  one  who  did  not  —  a  plain,  squat  creature, 
at  the  tail  of  the  procession,  who  wore  a  thick 
scarf  round  her  neck,  and  a  shawl  of  divers 
bright  colours.  She  led  a  small  child  along 
with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  attempted  to 
keep  a  large  umbrella  against  the  wind. 

"  Mneteen  —  twenty  —  twenty-one,"  counted 
the  toll-keeper's  widow  behind  me  as  I  watched 
the  spasmodic  jerkings  of  this  umbrella,  "  I 
wasn't  far  out  in  my  reckon.  And  you,  sir, 
make  twenty-two.  It  niver  rains  but  it  pours, 
they  say.  Times  enow  I  don't  see  a  soul  for 
days  together,  not  to  hail  by  name,  an'  now  you 
drops  in  on  top  of  a  Vaccination." 


WOON  GATE.  131 

Her  sigh  over  this  plethora  of  good  fortune 
was  interrupted  by  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
the  mothers  trooped  in,  their  clothes  dripping 
pools  of  water  on  the  sanded  lime-ash.  One  or 
two  of  them,  after  exchanging  greetings  with 
their  hostess,  bade  me  Good-morning:  others 
eyed  me  in  silence  as  they  took  their  seats 
round  the  wall.  All  whose  babes  were  not 
sound  asleep  quietly  undid  their  bodices  and 
began  to  give  them  suck.  The  older  children 
scrambled  into  chairs  and  sat  kicking  their 
heels  and  tracing  patterns  on  the  floor  with 
the  water  that  ran  off  their  umbrellas.  They 
were  restless  but  rather  silent,  as  if  awed  by 
the  shadow  of  the  coming  Vaccination.  The 
woman  who  had  brought  up  the  procession 
found  a  place  in  the  far  corner,  and  began  to 
unwind  the  comforter  around  her  neck.  Her 
eyes  were  brighter  and  more  agitated  than  any 
in  the  room. 

"  A  brave  trapse  all  the  way  from  Upper 
Woon,"  remarked  the  youngest  mother,  wiping 
a  smear  of  rain  from  her  baby's  forehead. 

"  Ah,  'tis  your  first,  Mary  Polsue.  Wait  till 
you've  carried  twelve  such  loads,  my  dear,"  said 
a  tall  middle-aged  woman,  whose  black  hair. 


132  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

coarse  as  a  mane,  was  powdered  grey  with  rain- 
drops. 

"Dear  now,  Ellen;  be  this  the  twelfth?" 
our  hostess  exclaimed.  "  I  was  reckonin'  it  the 
'leventh." 

"  Ay,  th'  twelfth  —  tho'  I've  most  lost  count. 
I  buried  one,  you  know." 

"  For  my  part,"  put  in  a  pale-eyed  blonde, 
who  sat  near  the  door,  "  't  seems  but  yestiddy  I 
was  here  with  Alsia  yonder."  She  nodded  her 
head  towards  a  girl  of  five  who  was  screwing 
herself  round  in  her  chair  and  trying  to  peep 
out  of  the  window. 

"  Ay,  they  come  and  come :  the  Lord  knows 
wherefore,"  the  tall  woman  assented.  "  When 
they'm  young  they  make  your  arms  ache,  an' 
when  they  grow  up  they  make  your  heart 
ache." 

"But  'Melia  Penaluna's  been  here  more 
times  than  any  of  us,"  said  the  blonde  with  a 
titter,  directing  her  eyes  towards  a  corner  of 
the  room.  The  rest  looked  too,  and  laughed. 
Turning,  I  saw  that  the  plain-faced  woman  had 
unwound  her  comforter,  and  now  I  could  see, 
hanging  low  on  her  chest,  an  immense  lump 
wrapped  in  clean  white  linen  and  bound  up 


WOON  GATE.  133 

with  a  gaudy  yellow  handkerchief.  It  was  a 
goitre. 

"Iss,  my  dears,"  she  answered,  touching  it 
and  smiling,  but  with  tears  in  her  eyes ;  "  this 
here's  my  only  child,  an'  iver  will  be.  Ne'er  a 
man  '11  look  'pon  me,  so  I'm  forced  to  be  con- 
tent wi'  this  babe  and  clothe  'en  pretty,  as  you 
see.  Ah,  you'm  lucky,  you'm  lucky,  though 
you  talk  so ! " 

"  She's  terrible  fond  o'  childer,"  said  one  of 
the  women  audibly,  addressing  me.  "How 
many  'noculations  have  you  'tended,  'MeUa  ?  "' 

"  Six-an'-twenty,  countin'  to-day,"  'Melia  an- 
nounced with  pride  in  her  trembling  voice. 
But  at  this  point  one  of  the  infants  began  to 
cry,  and  before  he  could  be  hushed  the  noise  of 
wheels  sounded  down  the  road,  and  Dr.  Rodda 
drove  up  in  his  reedy  gig. 

He  was  a  round,  dapper  practitioner,  with 
slightly  soUed  cuffs  and  an  extremely  business- 
like manner.  On  entering  the  room  he  jerked 
his  head  in  a  general  nod  to  all  present,  and 
stepping  to  the  table,  drew  a  small  packet  from 
his  waistcoat,  and  unfolded  it.  It  contained 
about  a  score  of  small  pieces  of  ivory,  pointed 
like  pens,  but  flat.  Then,  pulling  out  a  paper 
and    consulting    it    hastily,   he    set    to  work, 


134  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

beginning  with  the  child  that  lay  on  the 
blonde  woman's  lap,  next  to  the  door. 

I  looked  around.  The  children  were  staring 
with  wide,  admiring  eyes.  Their  mothers  also 
watched,  but  listlessly,  still  suckling  their  babes 
as  each  waited  its  turn.  Only  'Melia  Penaluna 
winced  and  squeezed  her  hands  together  when- 
ever a  feeble  wailing  told  that  one  of  the 
vaccine  points  had  made  itself  felt. 

"  Do  'ee  think  it  hurts  the  poor  mites  ?  "  the 
youngest  mother  asked. 

"  Not  much,  I  reckon,"  answered  the  big 
woman. 

I!^evertheless  her  own  child  cried  pitifully 
when  its  turn  came.  And  as  it  cried,  the  child- 
less woman  in  the  corner  got  off  her  chair  and 
ran  forward  tremulously. 

"  'Becca,  let  me  take  him.    Do'ee,  co ! " 

"  'Melia  Penaluna,  you'm  no  better  'n  a  fool." 

But  poor,  misnamed  Amelia  was  already  back 
in  her  corner  with  the  child,  hugging  it,  kissing 
it,  rocking  it  in  her  arms,  crooning  over  it,  hold- 
ing it  tightly  against  the  lump  that  hung  down 
on  her  barren  bosom.  Long  after  the  baby  had 
ceased  to  cry  she  sat  crooning  and  yearning 
over  it.  And  the  mothers  watched  her,  with 
wonder  and  scornful  amusement  in  their  eyes. 


FKOM  A  COTTAGE  IN  GANTICK.  » 


L— THE  MOUKNEK'S  HOKSE. 

The  Board  Schoolmaster  and  I  are  not  friends. 
He  is  something  of  a  zealot,  and  conceives  it 
his  mission  to  weed  out  the  small  superstitions 
of  the  countryside  and  plant  exact  information 
in  their  stead.  He  comes  from  up  the  country 
—  a  thin,  clean-shaven  town-bred  man,  whose 
black  habit  and  tall  hat,  though  considerably 
bronzed,  refuse  to  harmonise  with  the  scenery 
amid  which  they  move.  His  speech  is  formal 
and  slightly  dogmatic,  and  in  argument  he  al- 
ways gets  the  better  of  me.  Therefore,  feeling 
sure  it  will  annoy  him  excessively,  I  am  going 
to  put  him  into  this  book.  He  laid  himself 
open  the  other  day  to  this  stroke  of  revenge, 
by  telling  me  a  story ;  and  since  he  loves  precis- 
ion, I  will  be  very  precise  about  the  circum- 
stances. 

At  the  foot  of  my  garden,  and  hidden  from 
my  window  by  the  clipt  box  hedge,  runs 
Sanctuary  Lane,  along  which  I  see  the  heads 

137 


138  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

of  the  villagers  moving  to  church  on  Sunday 
mornings.  But  in  returning  they  invariably 
keep  to  the  raised  footpath  on  the  far  side, 
that  brings  the  women's  skirts  and  men's  small- 
clothes into  view.  I  have  made  many  attempts 
to  discover  how  this  distinction  arose,  and  why 
it  is  adhered  to,  but  never  found  a  satisfying 
explanation.     It  is  the  rule,  however. 

From  the  footpath  a  high  bank  (where  now 
the  primroses  have  given  place  to  stitchwort 
and  ragged  robin)  rises  to  an  orchard ;  so  steeply 
that  the  apple-blossom  drops  into  the  lane. 
Just  now  the  petals  lie  thickly  there  in  the 
early  morning,  to  be  trodden  into  dust  as  soon 
as  the  labourers  fare  to  work.  Beyond  and 
above  the  orchard  comes  a  stretch  of  pasture- 
land  and  then  a  young  oak-coppice,  the  fringe 
of  a  great  estate,  with  a  few  Scotch  firs  breaking 
the  sky-line  on  top  of  all.  The  head  game- 
keeper of  this  estate  tells  me  we  shall  have  a 
hot  summer,  because  the  oak  this  year  was  in 
leaf  before  the  ash,  though  only  by  a  day.  The 
ash  was  foliating  on  the  29th  of  April,  the  oak 
on  the  28th.  Up  there  the  blue-bells  lie  in 
sheets  of  mauve,  and  the  cuckoo  is  busy.  I 
rarely  see  him ;  but  his  three  notes  fill  the  hot 


THE  MOURNER'S  HORSE.  139 

noon  and  evening.  When  he  spits  (says  the 
gamekeeper  again)  it  is  time  to  be  sheep-shear- 
ing. My  talk  with  the  gamekeeper  is  usually 
held  at  six  in  the  morning,  when  he  comes 
down  the  lane  and  I  am  stepping  across  to 
test  the  water  in  Scarlet's  "Well. 

This  well  bubbles  up  under  a  low  vault 
scooped  in  the  bank  by  the  footpath  and  hung 
with  hart's-tongue  ferns.  It  has  two  founts, 
close  together ;  but  whereas  one  of  them  oozes 
only,  the  other  is  bubbling  perennially,  and,  as 
near  as  I  have  observed,  keeps  always  the  same. 
Its  specific  gravity  is  that  of  distilled  water  — 
1.000°;  and  though,  to  be  sure,  it  upset  me, 
three  weeks  back,  by  flying  up  to  1.005°,  I 
think  that  must  have  come  from  the  heavy 
thunderstorms  and  floods  of  rain  that  lately 
visited  us  and  no  doubt  imported  some  in- 
gredients that  had  no  business  there.  As  for 
its  temperature,  I  will  select  a  note  or  two 
of  the  observations  I  made  with  a  Fahrenheit 
thermometer  this  last  year  :  — 

June  12th.  —  Temperature  in  shade  of  well, 
62° ;  of  water,  51°. 

August  25th.  —  In  shade  of  weU  (at  noon), 
73° ;  of  water,  52°. 


140  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

November  '2i0th.  —  In  shade  of  well,  43° ;  of 
water,  52°. 

Janua/ry  \st.  —  External  air,  56° ;  enclosure, 
53° ;  water,  52°. 

March  Wth.  —  A  bleak,  sunless  day.  Tem- 
perature in  shade  of  well,  at  noon,  54° ;  water, 
51°.  The  Chrysospleniiiin  Ojppositijlorium  in 
rich  golden  bloom  within  the  enclosure. 

But  the  spring  has  other  properties  besides 
its  steady  temperature.  I  was  early  abroad  in 
my  garden  last  Thursday  week,  and  in  the  act 
of  tossing  a  snail  over  my  box  hedge,  when  I 
heard  some  girls'  voices  giggling,  and  caught 
a  glimpse  of  half-a-dozen  sun-bonnets  gathered 
about  the  well.  Straightening  myself  up,  I  saw 
a  group  of  maids  from  the  village,  and,  in  the 
middle,  one  who  bent  over  the  water.  Pres- 
ently she  scrambled  to  her  feet,  glanced  over 
her  shoulder  and  gave  a  shrill  scream. 

I,  too,  looked  up  the  lane  and  saw,  a  stone's 
throw  off,  the  schoolmaster  advancing  with 
long  and  nervous  strides.  He  was  furiously 
angry. 

"Thomasine  Slade,"  said  he,  "you  are  as 
shameless  as  you  are  ignorant ! " 


THE  mourner's  HORSE.  141 

The  girl  tossed  her  chin  and  was  silent,  with 
a  warm  blush  on  her  cheek  and  a  lurking  imp 
of  laughter  in  her  eye.  The  schoolmaster 
frowned  still  more  darkly. 

"  Shameless  as  well  as  ignorant ! "  he  repeated, 
bringing  the  ferule  of  his  umbrella  smartly 
down  upon  the  macadam;  "and  you,  Jane 
Hewitt,  and  you,  Lizzie  Polkinghome  ! " 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? "  I  asked,  step- 
ping out  into  the  road. 

At  sight  of  me  the  girls  broke  into  a  peal 
of  laughter,  gathered  up  their  skirts  and  fled, 
still  laughing,  down  the  road. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked  again. 

"  The  matter  ? "  echoed  the  schoolmaster, 
staring  blankly  after  the  retreating  skirts  ;  then 
more  angrily  — "  The  matter  ?  come  and  look 
here ! "  He  took  hold  of  my  shirt-sleeve  and 
led  me  to  the  well.  Stooping,  I  saw  half-a- 
dozen  pins  gleaming  in  its  brown  depths. 

"  A  love-charm." 

The  schoolmaster  nodded. 

"  Thomasine  Slade  has  been  wishing  for  a 
husband.  I  see  no  sin  in  that.  When  she 
looked  up  and  saw  you  coming  down  the 
lane  —  " 


142  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

I  paused.  The  schoolmaster  said  nothing. 
He  was  leaning  over  the  well,  gloomily  exam- 
ining the  pins. 

"  —  your  aspect  was  enough  to  scare  anyone," 
I  wound  up  lamely. 

"  I  wish,"  the  schoolmaster  hastily  began,  "  I 
wish  to  Heaven  I  had  the  gift  of  humour!  I 
lose  my  temper  and  grow  positive.  I'd  kill 
these  stupid  superstitions  with  ridicule,  if  I  had 
the  gift.  It's  a  great  gift.  My  God,  I  do  hate 
to  be  laughed  at !  " 

"  Even  by  a  fool  ? "  I  asked,  somewhat  as- 
tonished at  his  heat. 

"  Certainly.  There's  no  comfort  in  compar- 
ing the  laugh  of  fools  with  the  crackling  of 
thorns  under  a  pot,  if  you  happen  to  be  inside 
the  pot  and  in  process  of  cooking." 

He  took  off  his  hat,  brushed  it  on  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat,  and  resumed  in  a  tone  altogether 
lighter  — 

"  Yes,  I  hate  to  be  laughed  at ;  and  I'll  tell 
you  a  tale  on  this  point  that  may  amuse  you 
at  my  expense. 

"I  am  London-bred,  as  you  know,  and  still 
a  Cockney  in  the  grain,  though  when  I  came 


THE  MOUBNEE'S  HORSE.  143 

down  here  to  teach  school  I  was  just  nineteen 
and  now  I'm  over  forty.  It  was  during  the 
summer  holidays  that  I  first  set  foot  in  this 
neighbourhood  —  a  week  before  school  re- 
opened. I  came  early,  to  look  for  lodgings 
and  find  out  a  little  about  the  people  and 
settle  down  a  bit  before  beginning  work. 

"  The  vicar  —  the  late  vicar,  I  mean  —  com- 
mended me  to  old  Eetallack,  who  used  to  farm 
Kosemellin,  up  the  valley,  a  widower  and  child- 
less. His  sister,  Miss  Jane  Ann,  kept  house  for 
him,  and  these  were  the  only  two  souls  on  the 
premises  till  I  came  and  was  boarded  by  them 
for  thirteen  shillings  a  week.  For  that  price 
they  gave  me  a  bedroom,  a  fair-sized  sitting- 
room  and  as  much  as  I  could  eat. 

"  A  month  after  my  arrival.  Farmer  Retallack 
was  put  to  bed  with  a  slight  attack  of  colic. 
This  was  on  a  Wednesday,  and  on  Saturday 
morning  Miss  Jane  Ann  came  knocking  at  my 
door  with  a  message  that  the  old  man  would 
like  to  see  me.  So  I  went  across  to  his  room 
and  found  him  propped  up  in  the  bed  with 
three  or  four  pillows  and  looking  very  yeUow 
in  the  gills,  though  clearly  convalescent. 

" '  Schoolmaster,'   said    he,   '  I've    a    trifling 


144  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

favour  to  beg  of  ye.  You  give  the  children 
a  half -holiday,  Saturdays  —  hey?  Well,  d'ye 
think  ye  could  drive  the  brown  hoss,  Trumpeter, 
■  into  Tregarrick  this  afternoon?  The  fact  is, 
ray  old  friend  Abe  Walters,  that  kept  the  Pack- 
horse  Inn  is  lying  dead,  and  they  bury  'en  at 
half  after  two  to-day.  I'd  be  main  glad  to 
show  respect  at  the  funeral  and  tell  Mrs. 
Walters  how  much  deceased  '11  be  missed, 
ancetera;  but  I  might  so  weU  try  to  fly  in 
the  air.  Now  if  you  could  attend  and  just 
pass  the  word  that  I'm  on  my  back  with  the 
colic,  but  that  you've  come  to  show  respect  in 
my  place,  I'd  take  it  very  friendly  of  ye. 
There'll  be  lashins  o'  vittles  an'  drink.  No 
Walters  was  ever  interred  under  a  kilderkin.' 
"Now  the  fact  was,  I  had  never  driven  a 
horse  in  ray  life  and  hardly  knew  (as  they  say) 
a  horse's  head  from  his  tail  till  he  began  to 
move.  But  that  is  just  the  sort  of  ignorance 
no  young  man  will  readily  confess  to.  So  I 
answered  that  I  was  engaged  that  evening. 
We  were  just  organising  night-classes  for  the 
young  men  of  the  parish,  and  the  vicar  was  to 
open  the  first,  with  a  short  address,  at  half-past 
six. 


THE  MOURNER'S  HORSE.  145 

"'You'll  be  back  in  lasMns  o'  time,'  the 
farmer  assured  me. 

"  This  put  me  fairly  in  a  corner.  '  To  tell 
you  the  truth,'  said  I,  '  I'm  not  accustomed  to 
drive  much.'  But  of  course  this  was  wickedly 
short  of  the  truth. 

"  He  declared  that  it  was  impossible  to  come 
to  grief  on  the  way,  the  brown  horse  being 
quiet  as  a  lamb  and  knowing  every  stone  of 
the  road.  And  the  end  was  that  I  consented. 
The  brown  horse  was  harnessed  by  the  farm- 
boy  and  led  round  with  the  gig  while  Miss 
Jane  Ann  and  I  were  finishing  our  midday 
meal.  And  I  drove  olf  alone  in  a  black  suit 
and  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth. 

"Trumpeter,  as  the  farmer  had  promised, 
was  quiet  as  a  lamb.  He  went  forward  at  a 
steady  jog,  and  even  had  the  good  sense  to 
quarter  on  his  own  account  for  the  one  or  two 
vehicles  we  met  on  the  broad  road.  Pretty 
soon  I  began  to  experiment  gingerly  with  the 
reins ;  and  by  the  time  we  reached  Tregarrick 
streets,  was  handling  them  with  quite  an  air, 
while  observing  the  face  of  everyone  I  met, 
to  make  sure  I  was  not  being  laughed  at.  The 
prospect  of  Tregarrick  Fore  Street  frightened 


146    .  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

me  a  good  deal,  and  there  was  a  sharp  corner 
to  turn  at  the  entrance  of  the  inn-yard.  But 
the  old  horse  knew  his  business  so  well  that 
had  I  pulled  on  one  rein  with  all  my  strength 
I  believe  it  would  have  merely  annoyed,  with- 
out convincing,  him.  He  took  me  into  the 
yard  without  a  mistake,  and  I  gave  up  the 
reins  to  the  ostler,  thanking  Heaven  and  look- 
ing careless. 

"The  inn  was  crowded  with  mourners,  eat- 
ing and  drinking  and  discussing  the  dead 
man's  virtues.  They  packed  the  Assembly 
Room  at  the  back,  where  the  subscription 
dances  are  held,  and  the  reek  of  hot  joints 
was  suffocating.  I  caught  sight  of  the  widow 
"Walters  bustling  up  and  down  between  the 
long  tables  and  shedding  tears  while  she 
changed  her  guests'  plates.  She  heard  my 
message,  welcomed  me  with  effusion,  and 
thrusting  a  plateful  of  roast  beef  under  my 
nose,  hurried  away  to  put  on  her  bonnet  for 
the  funeral. 

"A  fellow  on  my  right  paused  with  his 
mouth  full  to  bid  me  eat.  'Thank  you,'  I 
said,  'my  only  wish  is  to  get  out  of  this  as 
quickly  as  possible.' 


THE  MOUBNER'8  HOBSE.  147 

"  He  contemplated  me  for  half  a  minute  with 
an  eye  like  an  ox's;  remarked  'You'll  be  a 
f  urriner,  no  doubt ; '  and  went  on  with  his  meal. 

"  If  the  feasting  was  long,  the ,  funeral  was 
longer.  We  sang  so  many  burying-tunes,  and 
the  widow  so  often  interrupted  the  service  to 
ululate,  that  the  town  clock  had  struck  four 
when  I  hurried  back  from  the  churchyard  to 
the  inn,  and  told  the  ostler  to  put  my  horse 
in  the  gig.     I  had  little  time  to  spare. 

"  '  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  the  ostler  said,  '  but 
I'm  new  to  this  place  —  only  came  here  this 
day  week.     Which  is  your  horse  ? ' 

" '  Oh,'  I  answered,  '  he's  a  brown.  Make 
haste,  for  I'm  in  a  hurry.' 

"  He  went  off  to  the  stables  and  returned  in 
about  two  minutes. 

" '  There's  six  brown  bosses  in  the  stable,  sir. 
Would  you  mind  coming  and  picking  out 
yours  ? ' 

"I  followed  him  with  a  sense  of  impending 
evil.  Sure  enough  there  were  six  brown  horses 
in  the  big  stable,  and  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't 
have  told  which  was  Trumpeter.  Of  any  dif- 
ference between  horses,  except  that  of  colour. 


148  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

I  hadn't  an  idea.  I  scanned  them  all  anxiously, 
and  felt  the  ostler's  eye  upon  me.  This  was 
unbearable.  I  pulled  out  my  watch,  glanced  at 
it  carelessly,  and  exclaimed  — 

" '  By  George,  I'd  no  notion  it  was  so  early  ! 
H'm,  on  second  thoughts,  I  won't  start  for  a 
few  minutes  yet.' 

"This  was  my  only  course — to  wait  until 
the  other  five  owners  of  brown  horses  had 
driven  home.  I  strolled  back  to  the  inn  and 
talked  and  drank  sherry,  watching  the  crowd 
thin  by  degrees,  and  speeding  the  lingering 
mourners  with  all  my  prayers.  The  minutes 
dragged  on  till  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
could  take  me  back  in  time  to  open  the  night- 
class.  The  widow  drew  near  and  talked  to 
me.    I  answered  her  at  random. 

"  Twice  I  revisited  the  stable,  and  the  second 
time  found  but  three  horses  left.  I  walked 
along  behind  them,  murmuring,  '  Trumpeter, 
Trumpeter ! '  in  the  forlorn  hope  that  one  of 
the  three  brutes  would  give  a  sign. 

" '  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  said  the  ostler ; 
'  were  you  saying  anything  ? ' 

"  '  No  —  nothing,'  said  I,  and  luckily  he  was 
called  away  at  this  moment  to  the  further  end 


THE  MOURNER'S  HORSE.  149 

of  the  stable.  'Oh,'  sighed  I,  'for  Xanthus, 
horse  of  Achilles ! ' 

"I  felt  inclined  to  follow  and  confide  my 
difficulty  to  the  ostler,  but  reflected  that  this 
wouldn't  help  me  in  the  least:  whereas,  if  I 
applied  to  a  fellow-guest,  he  must  (if  indeed  he 
could  give  the  information)  expose  my  previous 
hypocrisy  to  the  ostler.  After  all,  the  com- 
pany was  dwindling  fast,  I  went  back  and 
consumed  more  sherry  and  biscuits. 

"  By  this  six  o'clock  had  gone,  and  no  more 
than  a  dozen  guests  remained.  One  of  these 
was  my  bovine  friend,  my  neighbour  at  the 
funeral  banquet,  who  now  accosted  me  as  I 
struggled  with  a  biscuit. 

" '  So  you've  got  over  your  hurry.  Glad  to 
find  ye  settlin'  down  so  quick  to  our  hearty 
ways.' 

"  He  shook  hands  with  the  widow  and  saun- 
tered out.  Ten  more  minutes  passed  and  now 
there  were  left  only  the  widow  herself  and  a 
trio  of  elderly  men,  all  silent.  As  I  hung 
about,  trying  to  look  unbounded  sympathy  at 
the  group,  it  dawned  upon  me  that  they  were 
beginning  to  eye  me  uneasily.  I  took  a  sponge 
cake  and  another  glass  of  wine.    One  of  the 


150  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

men  —  who  wore  a  high  stock  and  an  edging 
of  stiff  grey  hair  around  his  bald  head  — 
advanced  to  me. 

"  '  This  funeral,'  said  he,  '  is  over.' 

"  '  Yes,  yes,'  I  stammered,  and  choked  over  a 
sip  of  sherry. 

" '  "We  are  waiting  —  let  me  tap  you  on  the 
back  — ' 

" '  Thank  you.' 

" '  We  are  waiting  to  read  the  will.' 

"  I  escaped  from  the  room  and  rushed  down 
to  the  stables.  The  ostler  was  harnessing  the 
one  brown  horse  that  remained. 

"  1  was  thinking  you  wouldn't  be  long,  sir. 
You're  the  very  last,  I  believe,  and  here  ends 
a  long  day's  work.' 

"  I  drove  off.  It  was  near  seven  by  this,  but 
I  didn't  even  think  of  the  night-class.  I  was 
wondering  if  the  horse  I  drove  were  really 
Trumpeter.  Somehow  —  whether  because  his 
feed  of  corn  pricked  him  or  no  I  can't  say  —  he 
seemed  a  deal  livelier  than  on  the  outward 
journey.  I  looked  at  him  narrowly  in  the 
twilight,  and  began  to  feel  sure  it  was  another 
horse.  In  spite  of  the  cool  air  a  sweat  broke 
out  upon  me. 


THE  mourner's  HORSE.  151 

"  Farmer  Retallack  was  up  and  dressed  and 
leaning  on  a  stick  in  the  doorway  as  I  turned 
into  the  yard. 

"  '  I've  been  that  worried  about  ye,'  he  began, 
'  I  couldn't  stay  abed.  Parson's  been  up  twice 
from  the  schoolhouse  to  make  inquiries.  Where 
in  the  name  o'  goodness  have  'ee  been  ? ' 

" '  That's  a  long  story,'  said  I,  and  then,  feign- 
ing to  speak  carelessly,  though  I  heard  my  heart 
go  thump  — '  How  d'ye  think  Trumpeter  looks 
after  the  journey  ? ' 

" '  Oh,  he's  all  right,'  the  old  man  replied 
indifferently  ;  '  but  come  along  in  to  supper.' 

"  Now,  my  dear  sir"  —  the  schoolmaster  thus 
concluded  his  tale,  tucking  his  umbrella  tightly 
under  his  armpit,  and  tapping  his  right  fore- 
jBnger  on  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  —  "these 
pagans  whom  I  teach  are  as  sensitive  as  I  to 
ridicule.  If  I  only  knew  how  to  take  them  — 
if  only  I  could  lay  my  finger  on  the  weak  spot 
—  I'd  send  their  whole  fabric  of  silly  supersti- 
tions tumbling  like  a  house  of  cards." 

This  happened  last  Thursday  week.  Early 
this  morning  I  crossed  the  road  as  usual  with 
my  thermometer,  and  found  a  strip  of  pink 


152  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

calico  hanging  from  the  brambles  by  the  mouth 
of  Scarlet's  Well.  I  had  seen  the  pattern  before 
on  a  gown  worn  by  one  of  the  villager's  wives, 
and  knew  the  rag  was  a  votive  offering,  hung 
there  because  her  child,  who  has  been  ailing  all 
the  winter,  is  now  strong  enough  to  go  out  into 
the  sunshine.  As  I  bent  the  bramble  carefully 
aside,  before  stooping  over  the  water,  Lizzie 
Polkinghorne  came  up  the  lane  and  halted 
behind  me. 

"Have  'ee  heard  the  news?"  she  asked. 

"  No."  I  turned  round,  thermometer  in 
hand. 

""Why,  Thomasine  Slade's  goin'  to  marry 
the  schoolmaster!  Their  banns  '11  be  called 
first  time  next  Sunday." 

We  looked  at  each  other,  and  she  broke 
into  a  shout  of  laughter.  Lizzie's  laugh  is  irre- 
sistible. 


II.— SILHOUETTES. 

The  small  rotund  gentleman  who  had  danced 
and  spun  all  the  way  to  Gantick  village  from 
the  extreme  south  of  France,  and  had  danced 
and  smiled  and  blown  his  flageolet  all  day  in 
Gantick  Street  without  conciliating  its  popula- 
tion in  the  least,  was  disgusted.  Towards  dusk 
he  crossed  the  stile  which  divides  Sanctuary  Lane 
from  the  churchyard,  and  pausing  with  a  leg  on 
either  side  of  the  rail,  shook  his  fist  back  at  the 
village  which  lay  below,  its  grey  roofs  and  red 
chimneys  just  distinguishable  here  and  there 
between  a  foamy  sea  of  apple-blossom  and  a 
haze  of  bluish  smoke.  He  could  not  well  shake 
its  dust  off  his  feet,  foi*  this  was  hardly  separable 
on  his  boots  from  the  dust  of  many  other  vil- 
lages, and  also  it  was  mostly  mud.  But  his 
gesture  betokened  extreme  rancour. 

"These  Cor-rnishmen,"  he  said,  "are pigs  all! 
There  is  not  a  Cor-rnishman  that  is  not  a  big 
pig!" 

153 


154  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

He  lifted  the  second  leg  wearily  over  the 
rail. 

"As  for  Art  —  " 

Words  failed  him  here,  and  he  spat  upon  the 
ground,  adding  — 

"  Moreover,  they  shut  up  their  churches ! " 

This  was  really  a  serious  matter ;  for  he  had 
not  a  penny-piece  in  his  pocket — the  last  had 
gone  to  buy  a  loaf  —  and  there  was  no  lodging 
to  be  had  in  the  village.  The  month  was  April 
—  a  bad  time  to  sleep  in  the  open ;  and  though 
the  night  drew  in  tranquilly  upon  a  day  of  broad 
sunshine,  the  earth  had  by  no  means  sucked 
down  the  late  heavy  rains.  The  church  porch, 
however,  had  a  broad  bench  on  either  side  and 
faced  the  south,  away  from  the  prevailing  wind. 
He  had  made  a  mental  note  of  this  early  in  the 
day,  being  schooled  to  anticipate  such  straits  as 
the  present.  While,  with  a  gait  like  a  limping 
hare's,  he  passed  up  the  narrow  path  between 
the  graves,  his  eyes  were  busy. 

The  churchyard  was  narrow  and  surrounded 
by  a  high  grey  wall,  mostly  hidden  by  an  inner 
belt  of  well-grown  cypresses.  On  the  south  side 
the  ranks  of  these  trees  were  broken  for  some 
thirty  feet,   and  here    the    back    of    a  small 


SILHOUETTES.  155 

dwelling-house  abutted  on  the  cemetery.  There 
was  one  window  only  in  the  yellow-washed  wall, 
and  this  window  —  a  melancholy  square  framed 
in  moss-stained  plaster  —  looked  straight  into 
the  church  porch.  The  flageolet-player  eyed  it 
suspiciously ;  but  the  casement  was  shut  and  the 
blind  drawn  down.  The  whole  aspect  of  the 
cottage  proclaimed  that  its  inhabitants  were 
very  poor  folk  —  not  at  all  the  sort  to  tell  tales 
upon  a  casual  tramp  if  they  spied  him  bivouack- 
ing upon  holy  ground. 

He  limped  into  the  porch,  and  cast  oflf  the 
blue  bag  that  was  strapped  upon  his  shoulders. 
Out  of  it  he  drew  a  sheep's-wool  cape,  worn 
very  thin ;  and  then  turned  the  bag  inside  out, 
on  the  chance  of  a  forgotten  crust.  The  disap- 
pointment that  followed  he  took  calmly  —  be- 
ing on  the  whole  a  sweet-tempered  man,  nor 
easily  angered  except  by  an  affront  on  his  vanity. 
His  violent  rancour  against  the  people  of  Gan- 
tick  arose  from  their  indifference  to  his  playing. 
Had  they  taken  him  seriously  —  had  they  even 
run  out  at  their  doors  to  listen  and  stare  —  he 
would  not  have  minded  their  stinginess. 

He  who  sleeps,  sups.  The  little  man  passed 
the  flat  of  his  hand,  in  the  dusk,  over  the  two 


166  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCRT. 

benches,  chose  the  one  which  had  fewest  asperi- 
ties of  surface,  tossed  his  bag  and  flageolet 
upon  the  other,  pulled  off  his  boots,  folded  his 
cape  to  make  a  pillow,  and  stretched  himself 
at  length.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  he  was 
sleeping  drearalessly. 

For  four  hours  he  slept  without  movement. 
But  just  above  his  head  there  hung  a  baize- 
covered  board  containing  a  list  or  two  of  the 
parish  ratepayers  and  the  usual  notice  of  the 
spring  training  of  the  Royal  Cornwall  Rangers 
Militia.  This  last  placard  had  broken  from  two 
of  its  fastenings,  and  towards  midnight  flapped 
loudly  in  an  eddy  of  the  light  wind.  The 
sleeper  stirred,  and  passed  a  languid  hand  over 
his  face.  A  spider  within  the  porch  had  been 
busy  while  he  slept,  and  his  hand  encountered 
gossamer. 

His  eyes  opened.  He  sat  upright,  and 
lowered  his  bare  feet  upon  the  flags.  Outside, 
the  blue  firmament  was  full  of  stars  sparkling 
unevenly,  as  though  the  wind  were  trying  in 
sport  to  puff  them  out.  In  the  eaves  of  the 
porch  he  could  hear  the  martins  rustling  in  the 
crevices  —  they  had  returned  but  a  few  days 
back  to  their  old  quarters.     But  what  drew  the 


SILHOUETTES.  167 

man  to  step  out  under  the  sky  was  the  cottage- 
window  over  the  wall. 

The  lattice  was  pushed  back  and  the  room 
inside  was  brightly  lit.  But  between  him  and 
the  lamp  a  white  sheet  had  been  stretched 
right  across  the  window ;  and  on  this  sheet  two 
quick  hands  were  weaving  all  kinds  of  clever 
shadows,  shaping  them,  moving  them,  or  re- 
shaping them  with  the  speed  of  summer 
lightning. 

It  was  certainly  a  remarkable  performance. 
The  shadows  took  the  forms  of  rabbits,  swans, 
foxes,  elephants,  fairies,  sailors  with  wooden 
legs,  old  women  who  smoked  pipes,  ballet-girls 
who  pirouetted,  anglers  who  bobbed  for  fish, 
twirling  harlequins,  and  the  profiles  of  eminent 
statesmen  —  all  made  with  two  hands  and,  at 
the  most,  the  help  of  a  tiny  stick  or  piece  of 
string.  They  danced  and  capered,  grew  large 
and  then  small,  with  such  profusion  of  odd 
turns  and  changes  that  the  flageolet-player 
began  to  giggle  as  he  wondered.  He  remarked 
that  the  hands,  whenever  they  were  disentwined 
for  a  moment,  appeared  to  be  very  small  and 
plump. 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  display  ceased,  and 


168  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

the  shadow  of  a  woman's  head  and  neck  crossed 
the  sheet,  which  was  presently  drawn  back  at 
one  corner. 

"Is  that  any  better?"  asked  a  woman's 
voice,  low  but  distinct. 

The  flageolet-player  started  and  bent  his  eyes 
lower,  across  the  graves  and  into  the  shadow 
beneath  the  window.  For  the  first  time  he  was 
aware  of  a  figure  standing  there,  a  little  way 
out  from  the  wall.  As  well  as  he  could  see,  it 
was  a  young  boy. 

"  Much  better,  mother.  You  can't  think 
how  you've  improved  at  it  this  week." 

"  Any  mistakes  ? " 

"  The  harlequin  and  columbine  seemed  a 
little  jerky.  But  your  hands  were  tired,  I 
know." 

"Never  mind  that:  they  mustn't  be  tired 
and  it's  got  to  be  perfect.  "We'U  try  them 
again." 

She  was  about  to  drop  the  corner  of  the 
sheet  when  the  listener  sprang  out  towards 
the  window,  leaping  with  bare  feet  over  the 
graves  and  waving  his  flageolet  wildly. 

"  Ah,  no  —  no,  madame !  "  he  cried.  "  Wait 
one  moment,  the  littlest,  and  I  shall  inspire  you." 


SILHOUETTES.  159 

"  Whoever  is  that  ? "  cried  the  woman's  voice 
at  the  window. 

The  youth  below  faced  round  on  the  in- 
truder. He  was  white  in  the  face  and  had 
wanted  to  run,  but  mastered  his  voice  and 
enquired  gruffly  — 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  ? " 

"  I  ?  I  am  an  artist,  and  as  such  I  salute 
madame  and  monsieur  her  son.  She  is  greater 
artist  than  I,  but  I  shall  help  her.  They  shall 
dance  better  this  time,  her  harlequin  and  col- 
umbine. Why  ?  Because  they  shall  dance  to 
my  music  —  the  music  that  I  shall  make  here, 
on  this  spot,  under  the  stars.  Tiens  !  I  shall 
play  as  if  possessed.  I  feel  that.  I  bet  you. 
It  is  because  I  have  found  an  artist  —  an  artist 
in  Gantick.  0-my-good-lor !  It  makes  me 
expand ! " 

He  had  pulled  off  his  greasy  hat,  and  stood 
bowing  and  smiling,  showing  his  white  teeth 
and  holding  up  his  flageolet,  that  the  woman 
might  see  and  be  convinced. 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  the  boy ;  "  but 
my  mother  doesn't  want  it  known  that  she 
practises  at  these  shadows." 

"  Ha  ?    It  is  perhaps  forbidden  by  law  ? " 


160  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

"  Since  you  have  found  us  out,  sir,"  said 
the  woman,  "  I  will  tell  you  why  we  are  be- 
having like  this,  and  trust  you  to  tell  nobody, 
I  have  been  left  a  widow,  in  great  poverty,  and 
with  this  one  son,  who  must  be  educated  as 
well  as  his  father  was.  Richard  is  a  promising 
boy,  and  cannot  be  satisfied  to  stand  lower  in 
the  world  than  his  father  stood.  His  father 
was  an  auctioneer.  But  we  are  left  very  poor — 
poor  as  mice :  and  how  was  I  to  get  him  better 
teaching  than  the  Board  Schools  here  ?  Well, 
six  months  ago,  when  sadly  perplexed,  I  found 
out  by  chance  that  this  small  gift  of  mine 
might  earn  me  a  good  income  in  London,  at  — 
at  a  music-hall  —  " 

"  Mother !  "  interjected  the  youth  reprov- 
ingly. 

"  Pursue,  madame,"  said  the  flageolet-player. 

"  Of  course,  sir,  Richard  doesn't  like  or  ap- 
prove of  me  performing  at  such  places,  but 
he  agrees  with  me  that  it  is  necessary.  So  we 
are  hiding  it  from  everybody  in  the  village, 
because  we  have  always  been  respected  here. 
We  never  guessed  that  anybody  would  see  us 
from  the  churchyard,  of  aU  places,  at  this  time 
of  night.    As  soon  as  I  have  practised  enough, 


SILHOUETTES.  161 

"we  mean  to  travel  up  to  London.  Of  course 
I  shall  change  my  name  to  something  French 
or  Italian,  and  hope  nobody  will  discover  —  " 

But  the  flageolet-player  sat  suddenly  down 
upon  a  damp  grave,  and  broke  into  hysterical 
laughter. 

"  Oh-oh-oh  !  Quick,  madame  !  dance  your 
pretty  figures  while  yet  I  laugh  and  before  I 
curse.  O  stars  and  planets,  look  down  on  this 
mad  world,  and  help  me  play !  And,  O  mon- 
sieur, your  pardon  if  I  laugh ;  for  that  either 
you  or  I  are  mad  is  a  cock-sure.  Dance, 
madame ! " 

He  put  the  flageolet  to  his  lips  and  blew. 
In  a  moment  or  two  harlequin  and  columbine 
appeared  on  the  screen,  and  began  to  caper 
nimbly,  naturally,  with  the  airiest  graces.  The 
tune  was  a  jigging  reel,  and  soon  began  to  in- 
spire the  performer  above.  Her  small  dancers 
in  a  twinkling  turned  into  a  gambolling  ele- 
phant, then  to  a  pair  of  swallows.  A  moment 
after  they  were  flower  and  butterfly,  then  a 
jigging  donkey,  then  harlequin  and  columbine 
again.  With  each  fantastic  change  the  tune 
quickened  and  the  dance  grew  wilder.  At 
length,  tired  out,  the  woman  spread  her  hands 


162  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

out  wide  against  the  sheet,  as  if  imploring 
mercy. 

The  player  tossed  his  flageolet  over  a  head- 
stone, and  rolled  back  on  the  grave  in  a  par- 
oxysm of  laughter.  Above  him  the  rooks  had 
poured  out  of  their  nests,  and  were  cawing  in 
flustered  circles. 

"Monsieur,"  he  gasped  out,  sitting  up  and 
wiping  his  eyes,  "  was  it  good  this  time  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  was." 

"  Then  could  you  spare  from  the  house  one 
little  crust  of  bread  ?    For  I  am  famished." 

The  youth  went  round  the  churchyard  wall, 
and  came  back  in  a  couple  of  minutes  with 
some  bread  and  cold  bacon. 

"Of  course,"  said  he,  "if  you  should  meet 
either  of  us  in  the  village  to-morrow,  you  will 
not  recognise  us." 

The  little  man  bowed.  "I  agree,"  said  he, 
"  with  your  mother,  monsieur,  that  you  must  be 
educated  at  all  costs." 


THE  DKAWN  BLIND. 

Silver  trumpets  sounded  a  flourish,  and  the 
javelin-men  came  pacing  down  Tregarrick  Fore 
Street,  with  the  sheriff's  coach  swinging  behind 
them,  its  panels  splendid  with  fresh  blue  paint 
and  florid  blazonry.  Its  wheels  were  picked 
out  with  yellow,  and  this  scheme  of  colour 
extended  to  the  coachman  and  the  two  lackeys, 
who  held  on  at  the  back  by  leathern  straps. 
Each  wore  a  coat  and  breeches  of  electric  blue, 
with  a  canary  waistcoat,  and  was  toned  off 
with  powder  and  flesh-coloured  stockings  at 
the  extremities.  Within  the  coach,  and  facing 
the  horses,  sat  the  two  judges  of  the  Crown 
Court  and  Nisi  Prius,  both  in  scarlet,  with 
full  wigs  and  little  round  patches  of  black 
plaister,  like  ventilators,  on  top;  facing  their 
lordships  sat  Sir  Felix  Felix-Williams,  the 
sheriff,  in  a  tightish  uniform  of  the  yeomanry 
with  a  great  shako  nodding  on  his  knees,  and 
a  chaplain  bolt  upright  by  his  side.    Behind 

X63 


164  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

trooped  a  rabble  of  loafers  and  small  boys,  who 
shouted,  "  Who  bleeds  bran  ? "  till  the  lackeys' 
calves  itched  with  indignation. 

I  was  standing  in  the  archway  of  the  Pack- 
horse  Inn,  among  the  maids  and  stable-boys 
gathered  to  see  the  pageant  pass  on  its  way  to 
hear  the  Assize  sermon.  And  standing  there, 
I  was  witness  of  a  little  incident  that  seemed  to 
escape  the  rest. 

At  the  moment  when  the  trumpets  rang 
out,  a  very  old  woman,  in  a  blue  camlet  cloak, 
came  hobbling  out  of  a  grocer's  shop  some 
twenty  yards  up  the  pavement,  and  tottered 
down  ahead  of  the  procession  as  fast  as  her 
decrepit  legs  would  move.  There  was  no 
occasion  for  hurrying  to  avoid  the  crowd ;  for 
the  javelin-men  had  barely  rounded  the  corner 
of  the  long  street,  and  were  taking  the  goose- 
step  very  seriously  and  deliberately.  But  she 
went  by  the  Packhorse  doorway  as  if  swift 
horsemen  were  after  her,  clutching  the  camlet 
cloak  across  her  bosom,  glancing  over  her 
shoulder,  and  working  her  lips  inaudibly.  I 
could  not  help  remarking  the  position  of  her 
right  arm.  She  held  it  bent  exactly  as  though 
she  held  an  infant  to  her  old  breast,  and  shielded 
it  while  she  ran. 


THE  DBAWN  BLIND.  165 

A  few  paces  beyond  the  inn-door  she  halted 
on  the  edge  of  the  kerb,  flung  another  look 
up  the  street,  and  darted  across  the  roadway. 
There  stood  a  little  shop  —  a  watchmaker's  — 
just  opposite,  and  next  to  the  shop  a  small  ope 
with  one  dingy  window  over  it.  She  vanished 
up  the  passage,  at  the  entrance  of  which  I  was 
still  staring  idly,  when,  half  a  minute  later,  a 
skinny  trembling  hand  appeared  at  the  window 
and  drew  down  the  blind. 

I  looked  round  at  the  men  and  maids ;  but 
their  eyes  were  all  for  the  pageant,  now  not  a 
stone's-throw  away. 

"  Who  is  that  old  woman  ?  "  I  asked,  touch- 
ing Caleb,  the  head  ostler,  on  the  shoulder. 

Caleb  —  a  small  bandy-legged  man,  with  a 
chin  full  of  furrows,  and  the  furrows  full  of 
grey  stubble  —  withdrew  his  gaze  grudgingly 
from  the  sheriff's  coach. 

"  What  woman  ? " 

"  She  that  went  by  a  moment  since." 

"  She  in  the  blue  cloak,  d'ee  mean?  —  an  old, 
ancient,  wisht-lookin'  body  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  A  timmersome  woman,  like  ? " 

"That's  it." 


166  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"  Well,  her  name's  Cordely  Pinsent." 
The  procession  reclaimed  his  attention.  He 
received  a  passing  wink  from  the  charioteer, 
caught  it  on  the  volley  and  returned  it  with 
a  solemn  face ;  or  rather,  the  wink  seemed  to 
rebound  as  from  a  blank  wall.  As  the  crowd 
closed  in  upon  the  circumstance  of  Justice,  he 
turned  to  me  again,  spat,  and  went  on  — 

"  —  Cordely  Pinsent,  widow  of  old  Key 
Pinsent,  that  was  tailor  to  all  the  grandees  in 
the  county  so  far  back  as  I  can  mind.  She's 
eighty-odd ;  eighty-five  if  a  day.  I  can  just 
mind  Key  Pinsent  —  a  great,  red,  rory-cum- 
tory  chap,  with  a  high  stock  and  a  wig  like 
King  George  —  '  my  royal  patron '  he  called 
'en,  havin'  by  some  means  got  leave  to  hoist 
the  king's  arms  over  his  door.  Such  mighty 
portly  manners,  too  —  Oh,  very  spacious,  I  as- 
sure 'ee !  Simme  I  can  see  the  old  Trojan 
now,  with  his  white  weskit  bulgin'  out  across 
his  doorway  like  a  shop-front  hung  wi'  jewels. 
Gout  killed  'en.  I  went  to  his  buryin' ;  such  a 
stretch  of  experience  does  a  young  man  get  by 
time  he  reaches  my  age.  God  bless  your  heart 
alive,  /  can  mind  when  they  were  hung  for 
forgery ! " 


TBE  DRAWN  BLIND.  167 

"  Who  were  hung  ?  " 

"People,"  he  answered  vaguely ;  "  and  young 
Willie  Pinsent." 

"  This  woman's  son  ? " 

"  Ay,  her  son  —  her  ewe-lamb  of  a  child. 
'Tis  very  seldom  brought  up  agen  her  now, 
poor  soul !  She's  so  very  old  that  folks  forgits 
about  it.  Do  'ee  see  her  window  yonder,  over 
the  ope  ? " 

He  was  pointing  across  to  the  soiled  white 
blind  that  still  looked  blankly  over  the  street, 
its  lower  edge  caught  up  at  one  corner  by  a 
dusty  geranium. 

"  I  saw  her  pull  it  down." 

"  Ah,  you  would  if  you  was  lookin'  that 
way.  I've  a-seed  her  do  't  a  score  o'  times. 
Well,  when  the  gout  reached  Key  Pinsent's 
stomach  and  he  went  off  like  the  snuff  of  a 
candle  at  the  age  of  forty-two,  she  was  left 
unprovided,  with  a  son  of  thirteen  to  maintain 
or  go  'pon  the  parish.  She  was  a  Menhennick, 
tho',  from  t'other  side  o'  the  Duchy  —  a  very 
proud  family  —  and  didn't  mean  to  dip  the 
knee  to  nobody,  and  all  the  less  because  she'd 
demeaned  hersel',  to  start  with,  by  wedding  a 
tailor.    But  Key  Pinsent  by  all  allowance  was 


168  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

handsome  as  blazes,  and  well-informed  up  to  a 
point  that  he  read  Shakespeare  for  the  mere 
pleasure  o't. 

"  Well,  she  sold  up  the  stock-in-trade  an' 
hired  a  couple  o'  rooms  —  the  self -same  rooms 
jou  see :  and  then  she  ate  less  'n  a  mouse  an' 
took  in  needle-work,  plain  an'  fancy  :  for  a  lot 
o'  the  gentry's  wives  round  the  neighbourhood 
befriended  her  —  though  they  had  to  be  sly 
an'  hide  that  they  meant  it  for  a  favour,  or 
she'd  ha'  snapped  their  heads  off.  An'  all  the 
while,  she  was  teachin'  her  boy  and  tellin'  'en, 
whatever  happened,  to  remember  he  was  a  gen- 
tleman, an'  lovin'  'en  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
desolate  woman. 

"  This  Willie  Pinsent  was  a  comely  boy, 
too :  handsome  as  old  Key,  an'  quick  at  his 
books.  He'd  a  bold  masterful  way,  bein'  proud 
as  ever  his  mother  was,  an'  well  knowin'  there 
wasn'  his  match  in  Tregarrick  for  head-work. 
Such  a  beautiful  hand  he  wrote !  When  he 
was  barely  turned  sixteen  they  gave  'en  a  place 
in  Gregory's  Bank  —  Wilkins  an'  Gregory  it 
was  in  those  aged  times.  He  still  lived  home 
wi'  his  mother,  rentin'  a  room  extra  out  of  his 
earnin's,  and  turnin'  one  of  the  bedrooms  into 


THE  DRAWN  BLIND.  169 

a  parlour.  That's  the  very  room  you're  lookin' 
at.  And  when  any  father  in  Tregarrick  had  a 
bone  to  pick  with  his  sons,  he'd  advise  'em  to 
take  example  by  young  Pinsent  — '  so  clever 
and  good,  too,  there  was  no  tellin'  what  he 
mightn't  come  to  in  time.' 

"  Well-a-well,  to  cut  it  short,  the  lad  was 
too  clever.  It  came  out,  after,  that  he'd  took 
to  bettin'  his  employers'  money  agen  the  rich 
men  up  at  the  Royal  Exchange.  An'  the  up- 
shot was  that  one  evenin',  while  he  was  drinkin' 
tea  with  his  mother  in  his  lovin'  light-hearted 
way,  in  walks  a  brace  o'  constables,  an'  says, 
'"William  Pinsent,  young  chap,  I  arrest  thee 
upon  a  charge  o'  counterfeitin'  old  Gregory's 
handwritin',  which  is  a  hangin'  matter  ! ' 

"  An'  now,  sir,  comes  the  cur'ous  part  o' 
the  tale ;  for,  if  you'll  believe  me,  this  poor 
woman  wouldn'  listen  to  it — wouldn'  hear  a 
word  o't.  '  What !  my  son  Willie,'  she  flames, 
hot  as  Lucifer  — '  my  son  Willie  a  forger !  My 
boy,  that  I've  nussed,  an'  reared  up,  an'  studied, 
markin'  aU  his  pretty  takin'  ways  since  he 
learn'd  to  crawl !  Gentlemen,'  she  says,  standin' 
up  an'  facin'  'em  down,  'what  mother  knows 
her  son,  if  not  I  ?  I  give  you  my  word  it's  all 
a  mistake.' 


170  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"  Ay,  an'  she  would  have  it  no  other.  While 
her  son  was  waitin'  his  trial  in  jail,  she  walked 
the  streets  with  her  head  high,  scornin'  the 
folk  as  she  passed.  Kot  a  soul  dared  to  speak 
pity ;  an'  one  afternoon,  when  old  Gregory 
hissel'  met  her  and  began  to  mumble  that '  he 
trusted,'  an'  '  he  had  little  doubt,'  an'  '  nobody 
would  be  gladder  than  he  if  it  proved  to  be 
a  mistake,'  she  held  her  skirt  aside  an'  went 
by  with  a  look  that  turned  'en  to  dirt,  as  he 
said.  '  Gad  ! '  said  he,  '  she  couldn'  ha'  looked 
at  me  worse  if  I'd  been  a  tab!'  meanin'  to 
say '  instead  o'  the  richest  man  in  Tregarrick.' 

"  But  her  greatest  freak  was  seen  when 
th'  Assizes  came.  Sir,  she  wouldn'  even  go  to 
the  trial.  She  disdained  it.  An'  when,  that 
mornin',  the  judges  had  driven  by  her  window, 
same  as  they  drove  to-day,  what  d'ee  think  she 
did? 

"  She  began  to  lay  the  cloth  up  in  the 
parlour  yonder,  an'  there  set  out  the  rarest 
meal,  ready  for  her  boy.  There  was  meats, 
roasted  chickens,  an'  a  tongue,  an'  a  great  ham. 
There  was  cheese-cakes  that  she  made  after  a 
little  secret  of  her  own ;  an'  a  bowl  of  junket, 
an  inch  deep  in  cream,  that  bein'  his  pet  dish ; 


THE  DBAWN  BLIND.  171 

an'  all  kind  o'  knick-knacks,  wi'  grapes  an' 
peaches,  an'  apricots,  an'  decanters  o'  wine, 
white  an'  red.  Ay,  sir,  there  was  even  crackers 
for  mother  an'  son  to  pull  together,  with  scraps 
o'  poetry  inside.  An'  flowers  —  the  table  was 
bloomin'  with  flowers.  For  weeks  she'd  been 
plannin'  it:  an'  all  the  forenoon  she  moved 
about  an'  around  that  table,  givin'  it  a  touch 
here  an'  a  touch  there,  an'  takin'  a  step  back 
to  see  how  beautiful  it  looked.  An'  then,  as 
the  day  wore  on,  she  pulled  a  chair  over  by  the 
window,  an'  sat  down,  an'  waited. 

"In  those  days  a  capital  trial  was  kept  up 
till  late  into  the  night,  if  need  were.  By-an'-by 
she  called  up  her  little  servin'  gal  that  was  then 
(she's  a  gran'mother  now),  an'  sends  her  down 
to  the  court-house  to  learn  how  far  the  trial 
had  got,  an'  run  back  with  the  news. 

"Down  runs  Selina  Mary,  an'  back  with 
word  — 

"  '  They're  a-sunimin'-up,'  says  she. 

"Then  Mrs.  Pinsent  went  an'  lit  eight 
candles.  Four  she  set  'pon  the  table,  an' 
four  'pon  the  mantel-shelf.  You  could  see  the 
blaze  out  in  the  street,  an'  the  room  lit  up, 
wi'  the  flowers,  an'  fruit,  an'  shiuin'  glasses  — 


172  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

red  and  yellow  dahlias  the  flowers  were,  that 
bein'  the  time  o'  year.  An'  over  each  candle 
she  put  a  little  red  silk  shade.  You  never  saw 
a  place  look  cosier.  Then  she  went  back  an' 
waited :  but  in  half-an-hour  calls  to  Selina 
Mary  agen : 

" '  Selina  Mary,  run  you  back  to  the  court- 
house, an'  bring  word  how  far  they've  got.' 

"  So  the  little  slip  of  a  maid  ran  back,  and 
this  time  'twas  — 

" '  Missis,  the  judge  has  done ;  an'  now  they're 
considerin'  about  Master  Willie.' 

"  So  the  poor  woman  sat  a  while  longer,  an' 
then  she  calls : 

"'Selina  Mary,  run  down  agen,  an'  as  he 
comes  out,  tell  'en  to  hurry.  They  must  be 
jB.nished  by  now.' 

"The  maid  was  gone  twenty  minutes  this 
time.  The  evenin'  was  hot  an'  the  window 
open ;  an'  now  all  the  town  that  wasn'  listenin' 
to  the  trial  was  gathered  in  front,  gazin' 
cur'ously  at  the  woman  inside.  She  was 
tittivatin'  the  table  for  the  fiftieth  time,  an' 
touchin'  up  the  flowers  that  had  drooped  a 
bit  i'  the  bowls. 

"But    after    twenty   minutes    Selina    Mary 


THE  DRAWN  BLIND.  173 

came  runnin'  up  the  street,  an'   fetched  her 
breath  at  the  front  door,  and  went  upstairs 
slowly  and  'pon  tip-toe.     Her  face  at  the  par- 
lour door  was  white  as  paper;  an'  while  she 
stood  there  the  voices  o'   the  crowd  outside 
began  to  take  all  one  tone,  and  beat  into  the 
room  like  the  sound  o'  waves  'pon  a  beach. 
" '  Oh,  missis  — '  she  begins. 
" '  Have  they  finished  ? ' 
"  The  poor  cheald  was  only  able  to  nod. 
" '  Then,  where's  WiUie  ?    Why  isn't  he  here  ? ' 
" '  Oh,  missis,  they're  goin'  to  hang  'en  ! ' 
"  Mrs.  Pinsent  moved  across  the  room,  took 
her  by  the  arm,  led  her  downstairs,  an'  gave 
her  a  little  push  out  into  the  street.     Not  a 
word  did  she  say,  but  shut  the  door  'pon  her, 
very  gentle-like.      Then    she  went    back    an' 
pulled  the  blind  down    slowly.      The   crowd 
outside  watched  her  do  it.     Her  manner  was 
quite  ord'nary.     They  stood  there  for  a  minute 
or  so,  an'  behind  the  blind  the  eight  candles 
went  out,  one  by  one.     By  the  time  the  judges 
passed  homeward  'twas  all  dark,  only  the  blind 
showin'   white  by  the    street  lamp    opposite. 
From  that  year  to  this  she  has  pulled  it  down 
whenever  a  judge  drives  by." 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

On  the  very  spot  which  the  railway  station 
has  usurped,  with  its  long  slate  roof,  wooden 
signal-box,  and  advertisements  in  blue  and 
white  enamel,  I  can  recall  a  still  pool  shining 
between  beds  of  the  flowering  rush ;  and  to 
this  day,  as  I  wait  for  the  train,  the  whir  of  a 
vanished  water-wheel  comes  up  the  valley. 
Sometimes  I  have  caught  myself  gazing  along 
the  curve  of  the  narrow-gauge  in  full  expecta- 
tion to  see  a  sagged  and  lichen-covered  roof  at 
the  end  of  it.  And  sometimes,  of  late,  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  there  never  was  such  a 
mill  as  I  used  to  know  down  yonder ;  and  that 
the  miller,  whose  coat  was  always  powdered  so 
fragrantly,  was  but  a  white  ghost,  after  all. 
The  station-master  and  porters  remember  no 
such  person. 

But  he  was  no  ghost;  for  I  have  met  him 
again  this  week,  and  upon  the  station  platform. 
I  had  started  at  daybreak  to  fish  up  the  stream 

175 


176  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

that  runs  down  the  valley  in  curves  roughly 
parallel  to  the  railway  embankment ;  and  com- 
ing within  sight  of  the  station,  a  little  before 
noon,  I  put  up  my  tackle  and  strolled  towards 
the  booking-office.  The  water  was  much  too 
fine  for  sport,  and  it  seemed  worth  while  to 
break  off  for  a  pipe  and  a  look  at  the  12.26 
train.  Such  are  the  simple  pleasures  of  a  coun- 
try life. 

I  leant  my  rod  against  the  wall,  and  was  set- 
ting down  my  creel,  when,  glancing  down  the 
platform,  I  saw  an  old  man  seated  on  the 
furthest  bench.  Everybody  knows  how  a 
passing  event,  or  impression,  sometimes  ap- 
pears but  a  vain  echo  of  previous  experience. 
Something  in  the  lines  of  this  old  man's  figure, 
as  he  leaned  forward  with  both  hands  clasped 
upon  his  staff,  gave  me  the  sensation.  "All 
this  has  happened  before,"  I  told  myself.  "  He 
and  I  are  playing  over  again  some  small  and 
futile  scene  in  our  past  lives.  I  wonder  who  he 
is,  and  what  is  the  use  of  it  ? " 

But  there  was  something  wanting  in  the 
picture  to  complete  its  resemblance  to  the 
scene  for  which  I  searched  my  memory. 

The  man  had  bent  further  forward,  and  was 


A   GOLDEN  WEDDINO.  177 

resting  his  chin  on  his  hands  and  staring 
apathetically  across  the  rails.  Suddenly  it 
dawned  on  me  that  there  ought  to  be  another 
figure  on  the  bench  —  the  figure  of  an  old 
woman ;  and  my  memory  ran  back  to  the  day 
after  this  railway  was  opened,  when  this  man 
and  his  wife  had  sat  together  on  the  platform 
waiting  to  see  the  train  come  in  —  that  fascinat- 
ing monster  whose  advent  had  blotted  out  the 
very  foundations  of  the  old  mill  and  driven  its 
tenants  to  a  strange  home. 

The  mUl  had  disappeared  many  months 
before  that,  but  the  white  dust  still  hung  in 
the  creases  of  the  miller's  clothes.  He  wore  his 
Sunday  hat  and  the  Sunday  polish  on  his  shoes ; 
and  his  wife  was  arrayed  in  her  best  Paisley 
shawl.  She  carried  also  a  bunch  of  cottage 
flowers,  withering  in  her  large  hot  hand.  It  was 
clear  they  had  never  seen  a  locomotive  before, 
and  wished  to  show  it  all  respect.  They  had 
taken  a  smaller  house  in  the  next  valley,  where 
they  attempted  to  live  on  their  savings;  and 
had  been  trying  vainly  and  pitifully  to  struggle 
with  all  the  little  habits  that  had  been  their 
life  for  thirty-five  years,  and  to  adapt  them  to 
new  quarters.     Their  faces  were   weary,   but 


178  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

flushed  with  expectation.  The  man  kept  look- 
ing up  the  line,  and  declaring  that  he  heard 
the  rumble  of  the  engine  in  the  distance ;  and 
whenever  he  said  this,  his  wife  pulled  the 
shawl  more  primly  about  her  shoulders,  straight- 
ened her  back,  and  nervously  re-arranged  her 
posy. 

"When  at  length  the  whistle  screamed  out, 
at  the  head  of  the  vale,  I  thought  they  were 
going  to  tumble  off  the  bench.  The  woman 
went  white  to  the  lips,  and  stole  her  disengaged 
hand  into  her  husband's. 

"  Startlin'  at  first,  hey  ? "  he  said,  bravely 
winning  back  his  composure :  "  but  'tis  wunner- 
ful  what  control  the  driver  has,  they  tell  me. 
They  only  employ  the  cleverest  men  —  " 

A  rattle  and  roar  drowned  the  rest  of  his 
words,  and  he  blinked  and  leant  back,  holding 
the  woman's  hand  and  tapping  it  softly  as 
the  engine  rushed  down  with  a  blast  of  white 
vapour  hissing  under  its  fore  wheels,  and  the 
carriages  clanked  upon  each  other,  and  the 
whole  train  came  to  a  standstill  before  us. 

The  station-master  and  porter  walked  down 
the  line  of  carriages,  bawling  out  the  name  of 
the  station.    The  driver  leaned  out  over  his  rail, 


A   GOLDEN   WEDDING.  179 

and  the  guard,  standing  by  the  door  of  his  van, 
with  a  green  flag  under  his  arm,  looked  enquir- 
ingly at  me  and  at  the  old  couple  on  the  bench. 
But  I  had  only  strolled  up  to  have  a  look  at 
the  new  train,  and  meant  to  resume  my  fishing 
as  soon  as  it  had  passed.  And  the  miller  sat 
still,  holding  his  wife's  hand. 

They  were  staring  with  all  their  eyes  —  not 
resentfully,  though  face  to  face  with  the  enemy 
that  had  laid  waste  their  habitation  and  swept 
all  comfort  out  of  their  lives  ;  but  with  a  simple 
awe.  Manifestly,  too,  they  expected  something 
more  to  happen.  I  saw  the  old  woman  search- 
ing the  incurious  features  of  the  few  passengers, 
and  I  thought  her  own  features  expressed  some 
disappointment. 

"  This,"  observed  the  guard  scornfully,  pulling 
out  his  watch  as  he  spoke,  "is  what  you  call 
traflB.c  in  these  parts." 

The  station-master  was  abashed,  and  forced 
a  deprecatory  laugh.  The  guard  —  who  was 
an  up-country  man  —  treated  this  laugh  with 
contempt,  and  blew  his  whistle  sharply.  The 
driver  answered,  and  the  train  moved  on. 

I  was  gazing  after  it  when  a  woeful  exclama- 
tion drew  my  attention  back  to  the  bench. 


180  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"  Why,  'tis  gone ! " 

"  Gone  ?  "  echoed  the  miller's  wife.  "  Of 
course  'tis  gone;  and  of  all  the  dilly-dallyin' 
men,  I  must  say,  John,  you'm  the  dilly-daUiest. 
Why  didn'  you  say  we  wanted  to  ride  ? " 

"I  thought,  maybe,  they'd  have  axed  us. 
'Twouldn'  ha'  been  polite  to  thrust  oursel's 
forrard  if  they  didn'  want  our  company.  Be- 
sides, I  thought  they'd  be  here  for  a  brave 
while  —  " 

"  You  was  always  a  man  of  excuses.  You 
knew  I'd  set  my  heart  'pon  this  feat." 

I  had  left  them  to  patch  up  their  little 
quarrel.  But  the  scene  stuck  in  my  memory, 
and  now,  as  I  walked  down  the  platform 
towards  the  single  figure  on  the  bench,  I  won- 
dered, amusedly,  if  the  woman  had  at  length 
taken  the  ride  alone,  and  if  the  procrastinating 
husband  sat  here  to  welcome  her  back. 

As  I  drew  near,  I  took  note  of  his  clothes 
for  the  first  time.  There  was  no  white  dust 
in  the  creases  to-day.  In  fact,  he  wore  the 
workhouse  suit. 

I  sat  down  beside  him,  and  asked  if  he 
remembered  a  certain  small  boy  who  had  used 


A   GOLDEN  WEDDING.  181 

to  draw  dace  out  of  his  mill-pond.  "With  some 
diflftculty  lie  recalled  my  features,  and  by 
degrees  let  out  the  story  of  his  life  during  the 
last  ten  years. 

He  and  his  wife  had  fought  along  in  their 
new  house,  hiding  their  discomfort  from  each 
other,  and  abiding  the  slow  degrees  by  which 
their  dwelling  should  change  into  a  home. 
But  before  that  change  was  worked,  the  woman 
fell  under  a  paralytic  stroke,  and  their  savings, 
on  which  they  had  just  contrived  to  live, 
threatened  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the  doctor's 
bill.  After  considering  long,  the  miller  wrote 
off  to  his  only  son,  a  mechanic  in  the  Plymouth 
Dockyard,  and  explained  the  case.  This  son 
was  a  man  of  forty  or  thereabouts,  was  married, 
and  had  a  long  family.  He  could  not  afford  to 
take  the  invalid  into  his  house  for  nothing ;  but 
his  daughters  would  look  after  their  grand- 
mother and  she  should  have  good  medical  care 
as  well,  if  she  came  on  a  small  allowance. 

"  So  the  only  thing  to  be  done,  sir,  was  for 
my  old  woman  to  go." 

"Andyou  — ?" 

"  Oh,  I  went  into  the  '  House.'  You  see, 
there  wasn'  enough  for  both,  livin'  apart." 


182  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

I  stared  down  the  line  to  the  spot  where 
the  mill-wheel  had  hummed  so  pleasantly,  and 
the  compassionate  sentence  I  was  about  to  utter 
withered  up  and  died  on  my  lips. 

"  But  to-day  —    Oh,  to-day,  sir  —  " 

"  "What's  happening  to-day  ? " 

"  She's  comin'  down  to  see  me  for  an  hour  or 
two ;  an'  I've  got  a  holiday  to  meet  her.  'Tis 
our  Golden  "Weddin',  sir." 

"  But  why  are  you  meeting  her  at  this  station 
instead  of  Tregarrick?  She  can't  walk,  and 
you  have  no  horse  and  trap ;  whereas  there's 
always  a  'bus  at  Tregarrick." 

"  "Well,  you  see,  sir,  there's  a  very  tidy  little 
cottage  below  where  they  sell  ginger-beer,  an' 
I've  got  a  whack  o'  vittles  in  the  basket  here, 
besides  what  "William  is  bringin'  — "William  an' 
his  wife  are  comin'  down  with  her.  They'll 
take  her  back  by  the  last  train  up ;  an'  I  thought, 
as  'twas  so  little  a  while,  an'  the  benches  here 
are  so  comfortable,  we'd  pass  our  day  'pon  the 
platform  hete.  'Tis  within  sight  o'  the  old 
home,  too,  or  ruther  o'  the  spot  where  the  old 
home  used  to  be:  an'  though  'tis  little  notice 
she  seems  to  take  o'  things,  one  never  can  tell 
if  poor  creatures  in  that  state  hainH  pleased 


A   GOLDEN    WEBBING.  183 

behind  all  their  dazed  looks.     What  do  you 
think,  sir?" 

The  whistle  sounded  up  the  valley,  and 
mercifully  prevented  my  answer.  I  saw  the 
woman  for  an  instant  as  she  was  brought  out  of 
the  train  and  carried  to  the  bench.  She  did  not 
recognise  the  man  she  had  married  fifty  years 
before :  but  as  we  moved  out  of  the  station,  he 
was  sitting  beside  her,  his  face  transfigured  with 
a  solemn  joy. 


SCHOOL  FRIENDS. 

"  What  ho,  there ! " 

At  this  feudal  summons  I  turned,  and  spied 
the  Bashaw  •elbowing  his  way  towards  me 
through  the  Fleet  Street  crowd,  his  hat  and  tie 
askew  and  his  big  face  a  red  beacon  of  good- 
will.   He  fell  on  my  neck,  and  we  embraced. 

"  Is  me  recreant  child  returned  ?  Is  he  tired 
at  last  av  annihilatin'  aU  that's  made  to  a  green 
thought  in  a  green  shade  ?  An'  did  he  home- 
sickun  by  the  Cornish  Coast  for  the  Street  that 
Niver  Sleeps,  an'  the  whirroo  an'  stink  av  her, 
an'  thefoomum  et  qpase  strepitumJce  —  to  drink 
delight  av  battle  with  his  peers,  an'  see  the 
great  Achilles  whom  he  knew  —  meanin'  me- 
self  ? "  The  Bashaw's  style  in  conversation,  as 
in  print,  bristles  with  allusion. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"I  go  back  to-morrow,  I  hope.  Business 
brought  me  up,  and  as  soon  as  it's  settled  I 
pack.'* 

186 


186  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"  Too  quick  despairer  —  but  I  take  it  ye'll  be 
bound  just  now  for  the  Cheese.  Eight  y'are ; 
and  I'll  do  meself  the  honour  to  lunch  wid  ye, 
at  your  expense," 

Everyone  knows  and  loves  the  Bashaw,  alias 
the  O'DriscoU,  that  genial  failure.  Generations 
of  Fleet  Street  youths  have  taken  advice  and 
help  from  him :  have  prospered,  grown  repu- 
table, rich,  and  even  famous  :  and  have  left  him 
where  he  stood.  Nobody  can  remember  the 
time  when  O'Driscoll  was  not ;  though,  to  judge 
from  his  appearance,  he  must  have  stepped  upon 
the  town  from  between  the  covers  of  an  illus- 
strated  keepsake,  such  as  our  grandmothers 
loved  —  so  closely  he  resembles  the  Corsair  of 
that  period,  with  his  ripe  cheeks,  melting  eyes, 
and  black  curls  that  twist  like  the  young  ten- 
drils of  a  vine.  The  curls  are  dyed  now-a-days, 
and  his  waist  is  not  what  it  used  to  be  in  the 
picture-books;  but  time  has  worn  nothing  ofip 
his  temper.  He  is  perennially  enthusiastic,  and 
can  still  beat  any  journalist  in  London  in 
describing  a  Lord  Mayor's  Show. 

"You  behould  in  me,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
large  hand  on  my  shoulder,  "the  victum  av  a 
recent  eviction  —  a  penniless  outcast.     'Tis  no 


SCHOOL  FRIENDS.  187 

beggar's  petition  that  I'll  be  profferin',  however, 
but  a  bargun.  Give  me  a  salad,  a  pint  av  hock, 
an'  fill  me  pipe  wid  the  Only  Mixture,  an'  I'll 
repay  ye  across  the  board  wid  a  narrative  —  the 
sort  av  Grod-forsaken,  ord'nary  thrifle  that  you 
youngsters  turn  into  copy  —  may  ye  find  for- 
giveness !  'Tis  no  use  to  me  whatever.  Ted 
O'DriscoU's  instrument  was  iver  the  big  drum, 
and  he  knows  his  limuts." 

"Yes,  me  boy,"  he  resumed,  five  minutes 
later,  as  he  sat  in  the  Cheshire  Cheese,  beneath 
Dr.  Johnson's  portrait,  balancing  a  black- 
handled  knife  between  his  first  and  second 
fingers,  and  nodding  good-fellowship  to  every 
journalist  in  the  room,  "the  apartment  in 
Bloomsbury  is  desolut ;  the  f urnichur'  —  what 
was  lift  av  ut  —  disparsed  ;  the  leopard  an'  the 
lizard  keep  the  courts  where  O'DriscoU  gloried 
an'  drank  deep ;  an'  the  wild  ass  —  meanin'  by 
that  the  midical  student  on  the  fourth  floor  — 
stamps  overhead,  but  cannot  break  his  sleep. 
I've  been  evicted:  that's  the  long  and  short 
av  ut.  Lord  help  me!  — I'd  have  fared  no 
worse  in  the  ould  country  —  here's  to  her! 
Think  what  immortal  copy  I'd  have  made  out 
av  the  regrettable  incident  over  there ! "     His 


188  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

voice  broke,  but  not  for  self-pity.  It  always 
broke  when  he  mentioned  Ireland. 

"  Is  it  comfort  ye'd  be  speakin'  ? "  he  began 
again,  filling  his  glass.  "  Me  dear  fellow, 
diwle  a  doubt  I'U  fetch  round  tight  an'  safe. 
Ould  Mick  Sullivan  — he  that  built  the  Wild 
Girl,  the  fastest  vessel  that  iver  put  out  av 
Limerick — ould  Mick  Sullivan  used  to  swear 
he'd  make  any  ship  seaworthy  that  didn'  leak 
worse  than  a  five-barred  gate.  An'  that's  me, 
more  or  less.  I'm  an  ould  campaigner.  But 
listen  to  this.  Me  feelin's  have  been  wrung 
this  day,  and  that  sorely.  I  promised  ye  the 
story,  an'  I  must  out  wid  ut,  whether  or  no." 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  benches  of  the 
Cheese  begin  to  empty.  My  work  was  over 
for  the  day,  and  I  disposed  myself  to  listen. 

"  The  first  half  I  spent  at  the  acadimy  where 
they  flageUated  the  rudiments  av  polite  learnin' 
into  me  small  carouss,  I  made  a  friend.  He 
was  the  first  I  iver  made,  though  not  the  last, 
glory  be  to  God!  But  first  friendship  is  like 
first  love  for  the  sweet  taste  it  puts  in  the 
mouth.  Niver  but  once  in  his  life  will  a  man's 
heart  dance  to  that  chune.  'Twas  a  small  slip 
of  a  Saxon  lad  that  it  danced  for  then :  a  son 


SCHOOL  FBIENDS.  189 

av  a  cursed  agint,  that  I  should  say  it.  But 
sorra  a  thought  had  I  for  the  small  boccawn's 
nationality  nor  for  his  own  father's  trade.  I 
only  knew  the  friendship  in  his  pretty  eyes 
an'  the  sweetness  that  knit  our  two  sowls  to- 
gither,  like  David's  an'  Jonathan's.  Pretty  it 
was  to  walk  togither,  an'  discourse,  an'  get  the 
strap  togither  for  heaven  knows  what  mischief, 
an'  consowl  each  other  for  our  broken  skins. 
He'd  a  wonderful  gift  at  his  books,  for  which 
I  reverenced  um,  and  at  the  single-stick,  for 
which  I  loved  um.  Niver  to  this  day  did  I  call 
up  the  ould  play-ground  widout  behowldin'  that 
one  boy,  though  all  the  rest  av  the  faces  (the 
master's  included)  were  vague  as  wather — 
wather  in  which  that  one  pair  av  eyes  was 
reflected. 

"  The  school  was  a  great  four-square  stone 
buildin'  beside  a  windy  road,  and  niver  a  tree 
in  sight ;  but  pastures  where  the  grass  would 
cut  your  boot,  an'  stone  walls,  an'  brown  hills 
around,  like  the  rim  av  a  saucer.  All  belonged 
to  the  estate  that  Jemmy  JSTichol's  father  man- 
aged— a  bankrupt  property,  or  next  door  to 
that.  It's  done  better  since  he  gave  up  the 
place;   but  when  I've  taken  a  glance  at  the 


190  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

landscape  since  (as  I  have,  once  or  twice)  I  see 
no  difference.  To  me  'tis  the  naked  land  I 
looked  upon  the  last  day  av  the  summer 
half,  when  I  said  good-bye  to  Jemmy;  for 
he  was  lavin'  the  school  that  same  afternoon 
for  Dublin,  to  cross  over  to  England  wid  his 
father. 

"  Sick  at  heart  was  I,  an'  filled  already  wid 
the  heavy  sense  of  solitariness,  as  we  stood  by 
the  great  iron  gate  wishin'  one  another  fare- 
ye-well. 

"'Jemmy  avick,'  says  I,  'dull,  dull  will  it 
be  widout  ye  here.  And,  Jemmy  —  send  some 
av  my  heart  back  to  me  when  ye  write,  as  ye 
promise  to  do.' 

" '  Wheniver  I  lay  me  down,  Ned,'  he  an- 
swered me  (though  by  nature  a  close-hearted 
English  boy),  '  I'll  think  o'  ye ;  an'  wheniver  I 
rise  up  I'll  think  o'  ye.  May  the  Lord  do  so  to 
me,  an'  more  also,  if  I  cease  from  lovin'  ye  tiU 
my  life's  end.' 

"  So  we  kissed  like  a  pair  av  girls,  and  off  he 
was  driven,  leavin'  a  great  hollow  inside  the 
rim  av  the  hills.  An'  I  ran  up  to  the  windy 
dormitory,  stumblin'  at  ivery  third  step  for  the 
blindin'  tears,  and  watched  um  from  the  win- 


SCHOOL  FRIENDS.  191 

dow  there  growin'  small  along  the  road.  '  Ye 
Mountains  av  Gilboa,'  said  I,  shakin'  my  fist  at 
the  hills,  '  let  there  be  no  dew,  neither  let  there 
be  rain  upon  ye ; '  f or  I  hated  the  place  now 
that  Jemmy  was  gone. 

"  Well,  'twas  the  ould  story  —  letters  at  first 
in  plenty,  then  fewer,  then  none  at  all.  Long 
before  I  came  over  to  try  my  luck  I'd  lost  all 
news  of  Jem :  didn't  know  his  address,  even. 
Nor  till  to-day  have  I  set  eyes  on  um.  He's 
bald-headed,  me  boy,  and  crooked-faytured, 
to-day  ;  but  I  knew  him  for  Jemmy  in  the  first 
kick  av  surprise. 

"  I  was  evicted  this  mornin',  as  I've  towld  ye. 
Six  years  I've  hung  me  hat  up  in  those  same 
apartments  in  Bloomsbury ;  and,  till  last  year, 
aisy  enough  I  found  me  landlord  over  a  quar- 
ter's rent  or  two  overjue.  But  last  midsummer 
year  the  house  changed  hands ;  and  bedad  it 
began  to  be  'pay  or  quit.'  This  day  it  was 
'  quit.'  The  new  landlord  came  up  the  stairs 
at  the  head  av  the  ejectin'  army  :  I  got  up  from 
breakfast  to  open  the  door  to  um.  I'd  never 
set  eyes  on  um  since  I'd  been  his  tenant. 
Bedad,  it  was  Jemmy  !  " 


192  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

O'Driscoll  paused,  and  poured  himself  another 
glass  of  hock. 

"  So  I  suppose,"  I  said,  "  you  ran  into  each 
other's  arms,  and  kissed  again  with  tears  ? " 

"  Then  you  suppose  wrong,"  said  he,  and  sat 
for  a  moment  or  two  silent,  fingering  the  stem 
of  his  glass.    Then  he  added,  more  gently  — 

"  I  looked  in  the  face  av  um,  and  said  to 
meself,  'Jemmy  doesn't  remember  me.  If  I 
introduce  meself,  I  wonder  what'll  he  do  ?  Will 
he  love  me  still,  or  will  he  turn  me  out  ? '  An' 
by  the  Lord  I  didn't  care  to  risk  ut !  I  couldn't 
dare  to  lose  that  last  illusion ;  an'  so  I  put  on  me 
hat  an'  walked  out,  tellin'  him  nothing  at  all." 


PAKENTS  AND  CHILDKEK 


L  — THE  FAMILY  BIBLE. 

There  lived  a  young  man  at  Tregarrick 
called  Kobert  Haydon.  His  father  was  not  a 
native  of  the  town,  but  had  settled  there  early 
in  life  and  became  the  leading  solicitor  of  the 
place.  At  the  age  of  thirty-seven  he  married 
the  daughter  of  a  county  magistrate,  and  by 
this  step  bettered  his  position  considerably. 
By  the  time  that  Kobert  was  born  his  parents' 
standing  was  very  satisfactory.  They  were 
living  weU  inside  an  income  of  £1,200  a  year, 
had  about  £8,000  (consisting  of  Mrs.  Haydon's 
dowry  and  Mr.  Haydon's  bachelor  savings) 
safely  invested,  and  were  on  visiting  terms 
with  several  of  the  lesser  county  families. 

In  other  respects  they  were  just  as  fortunate. 
They  had  a  sincere  affection  for  each  other,  and 
coincident  opinions  on  the  proper  conduct  of 
life.  They  were  people  into  whose  heads  a 
misgiving  seldom  or  never  penetrated.  Their 
religious  beliefs  and  the  path  of  social  duty 

195 


196  THE  DELECTABLE  BVCHT. 

stood  as  plain  before  them  as  their  front  gate 
and  as  narrow  as  the  bridge  which  Mohamme- 
dans construct  over  hell.  They  loved  Bob  — 
who  of  four  children  was  their  only  son  —  and 
firmly  intended  to  do  their  best  for  him ;  and  as 
they  knew  what  was  best  for  him,  it  followed 
that  Bob  must  conform.  He  was  a  light-col- 
oured, docile  boy,  with  a  pleasantly  ingenuous 
face  and  an  affectionate  disposition  ;  and  he 
loved  his  parents,  and  learned  to  lean  on 
them. 

They  sent  him  in  time  to  Marlborough, 
where  he  wrote  Latin  verses  of  slightly  unusual 
merit,  and  bowled  with  a  break  from  the  off 
which  meant  that  there  lay  a  thin  vein  of 
genius  somewhere  inside  of  him.  When  once 
collared,  his  bowling  became  futile ;  success 
made  it  deadly,  and  on  one  occasion  in  a  school 
match  against  the  M.C.O.  he  did  things  at 
Lord's  which  caused  a  thin  gathering  of  spec- 
tators —  the  elderly  men  who  never  miss  a 
match  —  to  stare  at  him  very  attentively  as  he 
returned  to  the  pavilion.  They  thought  it 
worth  while  to  ask,  "Which  'Varsity  was  he 
bound  for  ? " 

Bob  was  bound  for  neither.    He  had  to  in- 


TBE  FAMILY  BIBLS.  197 

herit,  and  consented  to  inherit,  his  father's  prac- 
tice without  question.  His  consuming  desire 
to  go  up  to  Oxford  he  hinted  at  once,  and  once 
only,  in  a  conversation  with  his  father ;  but  Mr. 
Haydon  "  did  not  care  to  expose  his  son  to  the 
temptations  which  beset  young  men  at  the  Uni- 
versities"—  this  was  the  very  text  —  and  pre- 
ferred to  keep  him  under  his  own  eye  in  the 
seclusion  of  Tregarrick. 

To  a  young  man  who  is  being  shielded  from 
temptation  in  a  small  provincial  town  there 
usually  happens  one  of  two  things.  Either  he 
takes  to  drink  or  to  discreditable  essays  in 
love-making.  It  is  to  Bob's  credit  that  he  did 
neither;  a  certain  delicate  sanity  in  the  fel- 
low kept  him  from  these  methods  of  killing 
time.  Instead,  he  spent  his  evenings  at  home  ; 
listened  to  his  parents'  talk;  accepted  their 
opinions  on  human  conduct  and  affairs;  and 
tumbled  honourably  into  love  with  his  sisters' 
governess. 

Ethel  Ormiston,  the  governess,  was  about  a 
year  older  than  Bob,  good  to  look  at,  and  the 
only  being  who  understood  what  ailed  Bob's 
soul  during  this  time.  She  was  in  prison  her- 
self, poor  woman.    Mrs.  Haydon  asserted  after- 


198  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

wards  that  Miss  Ormiston  had  "  deliberately  set 
herself  to  inveigle  "  the  boy ;  but  herein  Mrs. 
Haydon  was  mistaken.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
Bob,  having  discovered  someone  obliging  and 
intelligent  enough  to  listen,  dinned  the  story  of 
his  aspirations  into  the  girl's  ear  with  the  per- 
sistent egoism  of  a  hobbedehoy.  It  must  be 
allowed,  however,  that  the  counsel  she  gave 
him  would  have  annoyed  his  parents  exces- 
sively. 

"But  I  do  sympathise  with  you,"  she  said 
after  listening  to  an  immoderately  long  and 
peevish  harangue;  "and  I  should  advise  you 
to  go  to  your  father,  as  a  first  step,  and  ask  to 
be  paid  a  very  small  salary  for  the  work  you 
do  —  enough  to  set  up  in  lodgings  alone.  At 
present  you  are  pauperising  yourself." 

Bob  did  not  quite  understand  —  so  she  ex- 
plained : 

"You  are  twenty-one,  and  still  receiving 
food  and  lodging  from  your  parents  as  a 
dole.  At  your  age,  if  a  man  receives  any- 
thing at  all  from  father  or  mother,  he  should 
be  earning  it  as  a  right." 

She  spoke  impatiently,  and  longed  to  add 
that  he  was  also  impoverishing  his  intellect. 


THE  FAMILY  BIBLE.  199 

She  felt  a  touch  of  contempt  for  him ;  but  a 
touch  of  contempt  may  go  with  love,  and, 
indeed,  competent  observers  have  held  that 
this  mixture  makes  the  very  finest  cement. 
Certain  it  is  that  when  Bob  answered  patheti- 
cally, "But  I  don't  want  to  leave  this  roof. 
I  —  I  ccmH,  Miss  Ormiston,  you  know!"  she 
missed  her  opportunity  of  pointing  out  that 
this  confession  stultified  every  one  of  his 
previous  utterances.  She  began  a  sentence, 
indeed,  but  broke  off,  with  her  grey  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground ;  and  when  at  length  she  lifted 
them,  Bob  felt  something  take  him  by  the 
throat.  The  few  words  he  proceeded  to  blurt 
out  stunned  him  much  as  if  a  grenade  had 
exploded  close  at  hand.  But  when  Miss 
Ormiston  burst  into  tears  and  declared  she 
must  go  upstairs  at  once  and  pack  her  box,  he 
recovered,  and,  looking  about,  found  the  aspect 
of  the  world  bewilderingly  changed.  There 
were  valleys  where  hills  had  stood  a  moment 
before. 

"  I'll  go  at  once  and  tell  my  father,"  he  said, 
drawing  a  full  breath  and  looking  like  the  man 
he  was  for  the  moment. 

"And,"  sobbed  Miss  Ormiston,  "I'll  go  at 
once  and  pack  my  box." 


200  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

Herein  she  showed  foresight,  for  as  soon  as 
Bob's  interview  with  his  father  was  over,  she 
was  commanded  to  leave  the  premises  in  time 
to  catch  the  early  train  next  morning. 

Then  the  Haydon  family  sat  down  and  talked 
to  Bob. 

They  began  by  pooh-poohing  the  affair. 
Then,  inconsequently,  they  talked  of  disgrace, 
and  of  scratching  his  name  out  of  the  Family 
Bible,  and  said  they  would  rather  follow  him 
to  his  grave  than  see  him  married  to  Miss 
Ormiston.  Lastly,  Mrs.  Haydon  asked  Bob 
who  had  nursed  him,  and  taught  him  to  walk, 
and  read  and  know  virtue  when  he  saw  it. 
Bob,  in  the  words  of  the  poet,  replied,  "My 
mother."   "  Yery  well  tken,"  said  Mrs.  Haydon. 

After  forty-eight  hours  of  this  Bob  wrote  to 
Miss  Ormiston,  saying,  "My  father's  indigna- 
tion is  natural,  and  can  only  be  conquered  by 
tinie.     But  I  love  you  always." 

Miss  Ormiston  replied,  "  Your  father's  indig- 
nation is  natural,  perhaps.  But  if  you  love  me, 
it  might  be  conquered  by  something  else,"  or 
words  to  that  effect.  At  any  rate,  her  letter 
implied  that  as  it  was  Bob,  and  not  his  father, 


THE  FAMILY  BIBLE.  201 

who  proposed  to  make  her  a  wife,  it  was  on 
Bob,  and  not  on  his  father,  that  she  laid  the 
responsibility  of  fulfilling  the  promise. 

But  Bob  was  weak  as  water.  Love  had 
given  him  one  brief  glimpse  of  the  real  world : 
then  his  father  and  mother  began  to  talk,  and 
the  covers  of  the  Family  Bible  closed  like  gates 
upon  his  prospect.  At  the  end  of  a  week  he 
wrote  —  "  Nothing  shall  shake  me,  dear  Ethel. 
Still,  some  consideration  is  due  to  them ;  for  I 
am  their  only  son." 

To  this  Ethel  Ormiston  sent  no  answer ;  but 
reflected  "And  what  consideration  is  due  to 
me?  for  you  are  my  only  lover." 

For  a  while  Bob  thought  of  enlisting,  and 
then  of  earning  an  honest  wage  as  a  farm- 
labourer  ;  but  rejected  both  notions,  because  his 
training  had  not  taught  him  that  independence 
is  better  than  respectability — yea,  than  much 
broadcloth.  It  was  not  that  he  hankered  after 
the  fleshpots,  but  that  he  had  no  conception  of 
a  world  without  fleshpots.  In  the  end  his 
father  came  to  him  and  said  — 

"  Will  you  give  up  this  girl  ? " 

And  Bob  answered  — 

"  I'm  sorry,  father,  but  I  can't." 


i^02 


THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 


"Yery  well.  Kather  than  see  this  shame 
brought  on  the  family,  I  will  send  you  out 
to  Australia.  I  have  written  to  my  friend 
Morris,  at  Ballawag,  New  South  Wales,  three 
hundred  miles  from  Sydney,  and  he  is  ready 
to  take  you  into  his  office.  You  have  broken 
my  heart  and  your  mother's,  and  you  must 
go." 

And  Bob  —  this  man  of  twenty-one  or  more 
—  obeyed  his  father  in  this,  and  went.  I  can 
almost  forgive  him,  knowing  how  the  filial 
habit  blinds  a  man.  But  I  cannot  forgive  the 
letter  he  wrote  to  Miss  Ormiston  —  whom  he 
wished  to  make  his  wife,  please  remember. 
iN'evertheless  she  forgave  him.  She  had  found 
another  situation,  and  was  working  on.  Her 
parents  were  dead. 

Five  years  passed,  and  Bob's  mother  died  — 
twelve  years,  and  his  father  died  also,  leaving 
him  the  lion's  share  of  the  money.  During  this 
time  Bob  had  worked  away  at  Ballawag  and 
earned  enough  to  set  up  as  lawyer  on  his  own 
account.  But  because  a  man  cannot  play  fast 
and  loose  with  the  self-will  that  God  gave  him 
and  afterwards  expect  to  do  much  in  the  world, 
he  was  a  moderately  unsuccessful   man  still 


THE  FAMILY  BIBLE.  203 

when  the  inheritance  dropped  in.  It  gave  him 
a  fair  income  for  life.  When  the  letter  con- 
taining the  news  reached  him,  he  left  the  office, 
walked  back  to  his  house,  and  began  to  think. 
Then  he  unlocked  his  safe  and  took  out  Ethel 
Ormiston's  letters.  They  made  no  great  heap ; 
for  of  late  their  correspondence  had  dwindled 
to  an  annual  exchange  of  good  wishes  at 
Christmas.  She  was  still  earning  her  liveli- 
hood as  a  governess. 

Bob  thought  for  a  week,  and  then  wrote. 
He  asked  Ethel  Ormiston  to  come  out  and  be 
his  wife.  You  will  observe  that  the  old  curse 
still  lay  on  him.  A  man  —  even  a  poor  one  — 
that  was  worth  kicking  would  have  gone  and 
fetched  her;  and  Bob  had  plenty  of  money. 
But  he  asked  her  to  come  out  and  begged  her 
to  cable  "  Yes  "  or  "  No." 

She  cabled  "  Yes."  She  would  start  within 
the  month  from  Plymouth,  in  the  saUing-ship 
Grimaldi.  She  chose  a  sailing-ship  because  it 
was  cheaper. 

So  Bob  travelled  'down  to  Sydney  to  wel- 
come his  bride.  He  stepped  on  the  Grimal- 
d^s  deck  within  five  minutes  of  her  arrival, 
and  asked  if  a  Miss  Ormiston  were  on  board. 


204  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

There  advanced  a  middle-aged  woman,  gaunt, 
wrinkled  and  unlovely  —  not  the  woman  he 
had  chosen,  but  the  woman  he  had  made. 

"  Ethel  ? "  was  all  he  found  to  say. 

"  Yes,  Bob ;  I  am  Ethel.  And  God  forgive 
you." 

Of  the  change  in  him  she  said  nothing ;  but 
held  out  her  hand  with  a  smile. 

"Marry  me,  Bob,  or  send  me  back:  I  give 
you  leave  to  do  either,  and  advise  you  to  send 
me  back.  Twelve  years  ago  you  might  have 
been  proud  of  me,  and  so  I  might  have  helped 
you.  As  it  is,  I  have  travelled  far,  and  am 
tired.     I  can  never  help  you  now." 

And  though  he  married  her,  she  never  did. 


IL— BOANEKGES. 

"  Bill  Penbekthy's  come  back,  I  hear." 

The  tin-smith  was  sharpening  his  pocket- 
knife  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  and,  without 
troubling  to  lift  his  eyes,  threw  just  enough 
interrogation  into  the  remark  to  show  that  he 
meant  it  to  lead  to  conversation.  Every  one  of 
the  dozen  men  around  him  held  a  knife,  so  that 
a  stranger,  crossing  the  bridge,  might  have 
suspected  a  popular  rising  in  the  village.  But, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  merely  waiting 
for  their  turn.  There  is  in  the  parapet  one 
stone  upon  which  knives  may  be  sharpened  to 
an  incomparable  edge ;  and,  for  longer  than  I 
can  remember,  this  has  supplied  the  men  of 
Gantick  with  the  necessary  excuse  for  putting 
their  heads  together  on  fine  evenings  and  dis- 
cussing the  news. 

"  Ay,  he's  back." 

"Losh,  Uncle,  I'd  no  idea  you  was  there," 
said  the  tin-smith,  wheeling  round.  "And 
how's  your  lad  looking  ? " 

205 


206  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

"Tolerable  —  tolerable.  'A's  got  a  black 
suit,  my  sonnies,  and  a  white  tie,  and  a  soft  hat 
that  looks  large  on  the  head,  but  can  be  folded 
and  stowed  in  your  tail  pocket."  Complacency 
shone  over  the  speaker's  shrivelled  cheeks,  and 
beamed  from  his  horn-spectacles.  "You  can 
tell  'en  at  a  glance  for  a  Circuit-man  and  no 
common  Kounder." 

"'A's  fully  knowledgeable  by  all  accounts; 
learnt  out,  they  tell  me." 

"  You  shall  hear  'en  for  yourselves  at  meeting 
to-morrow.  He  conducts  both  services.  Now 
don't  tempt  me  any  more,  that's  good  souls :  for 
when  he'd  no  sooner  set  foot  in  th'  house  and 
kissed  his  mother  than  he  had  us  all  down  on 
our  knees  giving  hearty  thanks  in  the  most 
beautiful  language,  I  said  to  myself,  'many's 
the  time  I've  had  two  minds  about  the  money 
spent  in  making  ye  a  better  man  than  your 
father;'  but  fare  thee  well,  doubt!  I  don't 
begrudge  it,  an'  there's  an  end." 

A  small  girl  came  running  down  the  street 
to  the  bridge-end. 

"Uncle  Penberthy,"  she  panted,  "your  tall 
son  —  Mr.  "William  —  said  I  was  to  run  down 
and  fetch  'ee  home  at  once." 


B0ANEBGE8.  207 

"  Nothin'  wrong  with  'en,  I  hope  ? " 
"  I  think  he's  going  to  hold  a  prayer." 
The  little  man  looked  at  the  blade  of  his 
knife   for  a  moment,   half   regretfully :    then 
briskly  clasped  it,  slipped  it  into  his  pocket,  and 
hobbled  away  after  the  messenger. 

The  whitewashed  front  of  the  Meeting 
House  was  bathed,  next  evening,  with  soft 
sunset  yellow  when  Mr.  Penberthy  the  elder 
stole  down  the  stairs  between  the  exhortations, 
as  his  custom  was,  and  stood  bareheaded  in 
the  doorway  respiring  the  cool  air.  As  a 
deacon  he  temperately  used  the  privileges  of 
his  office,  and  one  of  these  was  a  seat  next 
the  door.  The  Meeting  House  was  really  no 
more  than  a  room  —  a  long  upper  chamber  over 
a  store;  and  its  stairway  descended  into  the 
street  so  sharply  that  it  was  possible,  even  for 
a  short-armed  man,  to  sit  on  the  lowest  step 
and  shake  hands  with  a  friend  in  the  street. 

The  roadway  was  deserted  for  a  whil  e.  Across 
the  atmosphere  there  reigned  that  hush  which 
people  wonder  at  on  Sundays,  forgetting  that 
nature  is  always  still  and  that  nine-tenths  of 
the  week's  hubbub  is  made  by  man.     Down 


208  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

the  pale  sky  came  a  swallow,  with  another  in 
chase:  their  wings  were  motionless  as  they 
swept  past  the  doorway,  but  the  air  whizzed 
with  the  speed  of  their  flight,  and  in  a  moment 
was  silent  again.  Then  from  the  upper  room 
a  man's  voice  began  to  roar  out  upon  the  still- 
ness. It  roared,  it  broke  out  in  thick  sobs 
that  shook  the  closed  windows  in  their  fasten- 
ings, it  wrestled  with  emotion  for  utterance, 
and,  overcoming  it,  rose  into  a  bellow  again; 
but,  whether  soaring  or  depressed,  the  strain 
upon  it  was  never  relaxed.  Uncle  Penberthy, 
listening  to  his  son,  felt  an  oppression  of  his 
own  chest  and  drew  his  breath  uneasily. 

The  tin-smith  came  round  the  corner  and 
halted  by  the  door. 

"  That  son  o'  yours  is  a  boundless  man,"  he 
observed  with  an  upward  nod. 

"  How  did  he  strike  ye  this  morning  ? " 

"I  don't  remember  to  have  been  so  power- 
fully moved  in  my  life.  Perhaps  you  and  me 
being  cronies  for  thirty  year,  and  he  your  very 
son,  may  have  helped  to  the  more  effectual 
working;  but  be  that  as  it  may,  I  couldn't 
master  my  dinner  afterwards,  and  that's  the 
trewth.    Ah,  he's  a  man,  Uncle;  and  there's 


BOANERGES.  209 

no  denying  we  wanted  one  of  that  sort  to 
awaken  us  to  a  fit  sense.  What  a  dido  he  do 
kick  up,  to  be  sure ! " 

The  tin-smith  shifted  his  footing  uneasily  as 
if  he  had  something  to  add. 

"I  hope  you  won't  think  it  onneighbourly 
or  disrespectful  that  I  didn'  come  agen  this 
evenin',"  he  begun,  after  a  pause. 

"  Not  at  all,  Jem,  not  at  all." 

"  Because,  you  see  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  quite  see." 

"  I  wouldn'  have  ye  think  —  but  there,  I'm 
powerful  glad  you  see."  His  face  cleared. 
"  Good  evenin'  to  ye,  Uncle !  " 

He  went  on  with  a  brisker  step,  while  Uncle 
Penberthy  drew  a  few  more  lingering  breaths 
and  climbed  the  stairs  again  to  the  close  air 
of  the  meeting-room. 

"Im  afraid,  father,  that  something  in  my 
second  exhortation  displeased  you,"  said  the 
Rev.  William  Penberthy  as  he  walked  home 
from  service  between  his  parents.  He  was  a 
tall  fellow  with  a  hatchet-shaped  face  and  eyes 
set  rather  closely  together. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  son.  What  makes  ye  deem 
it?"  The  little  man  tilted  back  his  bronzed 
top-hat  and  looked  up  nervously. 


210  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"  Because  you  went  out  in  the  middle  of 
service." 

"'Tis  but  father's  habit,  WiUiam,"  old  Mrs. 
Penberthy  made  haste  to  explain,  laying  a 
hand  on  his  arm.  She  was  somewhat  stouter 
of  build  and  louder  of  voice  than  her  husband, 
but  stood  in  just  the  same  awe  of  her  son, 
"  He's  done  it  regular  since  he  was  appointed 
deacon." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  WUliam,  stonily. 

Uncle  Penberthy  pulled  off  his  hat  to  ex- 
tract a  red  handkerchief  from  its  crown,  re- 
moved his  spectacles,  and  wiped  them  hurriedly. 

"  Them  varmints  of  boys,"  he  stammered,  "  be 
so  troublesome  round  the  door  —  occasion'Uy, 
that  is." 

"  Was  that  so  to-night  ? " 

"  Why,  no." 

"  But  you  were  absent  at  least  twenty 
minutes — all  through  the  silent  prayer  and  half 
way  through  the  third  exhortation."  He  gazed 
sternly  at  the  amiable  old  man.  "  You  didn't 
hear  me  treat  that  difficulty  in  Colossians,  two, 
twenty  to  twenty-three?  If  you  have  time, 
we'U  discuss  it  after  private  worship  to-night. 
If  I  can  make  you  see  it  in  what  I  am  sure 


BOANERGES.  211 

is  the  right  light,  it  will  lead  you  to  think 
more  seriously  of  that  glass  of  beer  you  have 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  taking  with  your 
supper." 

It  is  but  a  fortnight  since  the  Rev.  William 
Penberthy  came  home;  but  in  that  fortnight 
his  father  and  mother  have  aged  ten  years. 
The  old  man,  when  I  took  him  my  watch  to 
regulate  the  other  day  —  for  on  week-days  he 
is  a  watch-maker  —  began  to  ask  questions,  as 
eagerly  as  a  child,  about  the  village  news.  It 
turned  out  that,  for  a  whole  week,  he  had  not 
been  down  to  sharpen  his  knife  upon  the 
bridge.  He  has  given  up  his  glass  of  beer,  too, 
and  altogether  the  zeal  of  his  house  is  eating 
him  up. 

This  morning  the  new  minister  climbed  into 
the  van  with  his  carpet-bag.  He  is  off  to  some 
Conference  or  other,  and  will  be  back  again  the 
day  after  to-morrow.  Ten  minutes  after  he 
had  gone  his  father  and  mother  shut  up  the 
shop  and  went  out  together.  They  mean  to 
take  a  whole  holiday  and  hear  all  the  news.  It 
was  pitiful  to  see  their  fumbling  haste  as  they 
helped  one  another  to  put  up  the  shutters ;  and 


212  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

almost  more  pitiful  to  mark,  as  they  hurried 
down  the  street  arm  in  arm,  their  conscientious 
but  feeble  endeavour  to  look  something  more 
staid  than  a  couple  of  children  just  out  of 
school 


TWO  MONUMENTS. 

My  dear  yotjng  Lady, — 

Our  postman  here  does  not  deliver  parcels 
until  the  afternoon  —  which  nobody  grumbles 
at,  because  of  his  infirmity  and  his  long  and 
useful  career.  The  manuscript,  therefore,  of 
your  novel,  Sunshine  and  Shadow,  has  not  yet 
reached  me.  But  your  letter  —  in  which  you 
beg  me  to  send  an  opinion  upon  the  work,  with 
some  advice  upon  your  chances  of  success  in 
literature  —  I  found  on  my  breakfast-table,  as 
well  as  the  photograph  which  you  desire 
(perhaps  wisely)  to  face  the  title-page.  I  trust 
you  will  forgive  the  slight  stain  in  the  lower 
left-hand  corner  of  the  portrait,  which  I  return : 
for  it  is  the  strawberry-season  here,  and  in 
course  of  my  reflections  I  had  the  misfortune 
to  let  the  cardboard  slip  between  my  fingers 
and  fall  across  the  edge  of  the  plate. 

I  have  taken  the  resolution  to  send  my  ad- 
vice before  it  can  be  shaken  by  a  perusal  of 

213 


214  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

Sunshine  and  Shadow.  But  it  is  difficult 
nevertheless.  I  might  say  bluntly  that,  unless 
the  camera  lies,  your  face  is  not  one  to  stake 
against  Fame  over  a  game  of  hazard.  You 
remember  John  Lyly's  "Cupid  and  my  Cam- 
paspo"  ?  —  and  how  Cupid  losing, 

"  down  he  throws 
The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 
Growing  on^s  cheek  {but  none  knows  how)  .  .  ." 

—  and  so  on,  with  the  rest  of  his  charms,  one 
by  one?  I  might  assure  you  that  when 
maidens  play  against  Fame  they  risk  all  these 
treasures  and  more,  without  hope  of  leniency 
from  their  opponent,  Avho  (you  will  note)  is  the 
same  sex.  But  you  will  answer  by  return  of 
post,  that  this  is  no  business  of  mine,  and  that 
I  exhibit  the  usual  impertinence  of  man  when 
asked  to  consider  woman's  serious  aspiration. 
You  will  protest  that  you  are  ready  to  stake  all 
this.  Yery  well,  then  :  listen,  if  you  have 
patience,  to  a  little  story  that  I  came  upon,  a 
week  since,  about  a  man  who  spent  his  days  at 
this  game  of  hazard.  It  was  called  The  Two 
Monuments. 
When  the    Headmaster    of    the  Grammar- 


TWO  MONUMENTS.  215 

School  came  to  add  up  the  marks  for  the 
term's  work  and  examination  —  which  he 
always  did  without  a  mistake  —  it  was  dis- 
covered that  in  the  Upper  Fourth  (the  top 
form)  Thompson  had  beaten  Jenkins  major 
by  sixteen.  So  Thompson  received  a  copy 
of  the  Memoirs  of  Eminent  Etonians,  bound 
in  tree-calf,  and  took  it  home  under  his  arm, 
wondering  what  "Etonians"  were,  but  too 
proud  to  ask.  And  Jenkins  major  received 
nothing ;  and  being  too  weak  to  punch  Thomp- 
son's head  (as  he  desired)  waylaid  him  opposite 
the  cemetery  gate  on  his  way  home,  and  said  — 

"  Parvenu  !  " 
—  which  was  doubly  insulting ;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  French  was  Thompson's  weakest  subject, 
and  secondly,  his  father  was  a  haberdasher  in  a 
small  way,  who  spoke  wdth  awe  of  the  Jenkinses 
as  a  family  that  had  practised  law  in  the  town 
for  six  generations.  Thompson  himself  was 
aware  of  the  glamour  such  a  lineage  conferred. 
It  was  wholly  due  to  his  ignorance  of  French 
that  he  retorted  — 

"  You're  another  ! " 

Young    Jenkins   explained   the   term,   with 
a  wave  of  his  hand  towards  the  cemetery  gate. 


216  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

"  You'll  find  my  family  in  there,  and  inside  a 
rail  of  their  own.  And  you  needn't  think  I 
wanted  that  prize,     /'ve  got  a  grandfather." 

So,  no  doubt,  had  Thompson ;  but,  to  find 
him,  he  must  have  consulted  the  parish  books 
and  searched  among  the  graves  at  the  northern 
end  of  the  burial-ground  for  one  decorated  with 
a  tin  label  and  the  number  2054.  He  gazed 
in  at  the  sacred  acre  of  the  Jenkinses  and  the 
monuments  emblazoned  with  "  J.P.,"  "  Recorder 
of  this  Borough,"  "  Clerk  of  the  Peace  for  the 
County,"  and  other  proud  appendices  in  gilt 
lettering :  and,  in  the  heat  of  his  heart,  turned 
upon  Jenkins  major. 

"  You  just  wait  till  we  die,  and  see  which  of 
us  two  has  the  finer  tombstone ! " 

Thereupon  he  stalked  home  and  read  the 
Memoirs  of  Eminent  Etonians,  and  learnt 
from  their  perusal  that  it  was  indeed  possible 
to  earn  a  finer  tombstone  than  any  Jenkins 
possessed.  At  the  end  of  the  Christmas  term, 
too,  he  acquired  a  copy  of  Dr.  Smiles's  famous 
work  on  Self -Help,  and  this  really  set  his  feet 
in  the  path  to  his  desire. 

He  determined,  after  weighing  the  matter 
carefully,  to  be  a  poet:  for  it  seemed  to  him 


TWO  MONUMENTS.  217 

that  of  all  the  noble  professions  this  was  the 
only  one  the  initial  expense  of  which  could  be 
covered  by  his  patrimony.  The  paper,  ink,  and 
pens  came  cheaply  enough  (though  the  waste 
was  excessive);  and  for  his  outfit  of  high 
thoughts  and  emotions  he  pawned  not  merely 
the  possessions  that  you,  my  dear  young  lady, 
are  so  willing  to  cast  on  the  table  —  charms  of 
face  and  graces  of  person — for,  as  a  man,  he 
valued  these  lightly;  but  the  strength  in  his 
arms,  the  taste  of  meat  and  wine,  the  cunning 
of  horsemanship,  'of  boat-saUing,  of  mountain- 
climbing,  the  breathless  joy  of  the  diver,  the 
languid  joy  of  the  dancer,  the  feel  of  the  canoe- 
paddle  shaken  in  the  rapid,  the  delicious  lassi- 
tude of  sleep  in  wayside-inns,  and  lastly  the 
ecstasy  of  love  and  fatherhood  —  all  these  he 
relinquished  for  a  tombstone  that  should  be 
handsomer  than  Jenkins's.  Jenkins,  mean- 
while, was  articled  to  his  father,  and,  having 
passed  the  necessary  examinations  with  credit, 
became  a  solicitor  and  married  into  a  county 
family. 

Thompson,  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  was  by 
this  time  settled  in  London  and  naturally  spent 
a  good  deal  of  his  leisure  time  in  Westminster 


218  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

Abbey.  The  monuments  there  profoundly 
affected  his  imagination,  and  gave  him  quite 
new  ambitions  with  regard  to  the  tombstone 
that  towered  at  the  back  of  all  his  day-dreams. 
When  first  he  trod  the  Embankment,  in  thin 
boots  with  a  few  pence  in  his  pocket,  it  had  ap- 
peared to  him  in  slate  with  a  terrific  inscription 
in  gilt  letters  —  inscriptions  in  which  "  Bene- 
factor of  His  Species,"  "  Take  him  for  All  in  AU 
We  shall  not  Look  upon  his  Like  Again  "  took 
the  place  of  the  pettifogging  "Clerk  of  the 
Peace"  or  "J.P."  tagged  on  to  the  names  of 
the  Jenkinses.  By  degrees,  however,  he  abated 
a  little  of  the  inscription  and  made  up  for  it  by 
trebling  the  costliness  of  the  stone. 

From  slate  it  ^-rew  to  granite  —  to  marble  — 
to  alabaster,  with  painted  cherubs  and  a  coat  of 
arms.  At  one  time  he  brooded,  for  a  whole 
week,  over  a  flamboyant  design  with  bosses  of 
lapis  lazuli  at  the  four  corners ;  and  only  gave 
it  up  for  a  life-size  recumbent  figure  in  alabaster 
with  four  gryphons  supporting  the  sarcophagus. 
As  the  soles  of  his  boots  thickened  with  pros- 
perity, so  did  his  stone  grow  in  solidity.  Finally 
an  epic  of  his  —  Adrastus  —  took  the  town 
by  storm,  and  three  editions  were  exhausted 


TWO  MONUMENTS.  219 

in  a  single  week.  When  this  happened,  he  sat 
down  with  a  gigantic  sheet  of  cartridge  paper 
before  him  and  spent  a  whole  year  in  setting 
out  the  elaborated  design.  By  his  will  he  left 
all  his  money  to  pay  for  the  structure :  for  his 
father  and  mother  were  dead  and  he  had 
neither  wife  nor  child. 

When  all  was  finished  he  rubbed  his  hands, 
packed  up  his  bag  and  took  a  third-class  ticket 
down  to  his  native  town,  to  have  a  contemptu- 
ous look  at  the  Jenkins  monuments  and  see 
how  Jenkins  major  was  getting  on. 

Jenkins  major  was  up  in  the  cemetery, 
among  his  fathers.  And  on  top  of  Jenkins 
rested  a  granite  cross  —  sufficiently  handsome, 
to  be  sure,  for  a  solicitor,  but  nothing  out  of 
the  way.  "  J.P."  was  carved  upon  it ;  though, 
as  Jenkins  had  an  absurdly  long  Christian 
name  (Marmaduke  Augustus  St.  John),  these 
letters  were  squeezed  a  bit  in  the  right  arm  of 
the  cross.     Underneath  was  engraved  — 

''ERECTED  BT  HIS  DISCONSOLATE 
WIFE  AND   CHILDREN. 

A  Father  hind,  a  Husband  dea/r, 
A  faithful  Friend,  lies  buried  here.^^ 


220  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

Thompson  perused  the  doggerel  once,  twice, 
and  a  third  time ;  and  chuckled  contemptuously. 
"  So  Jenkins  has  come  to  this.  God  bless  me, 
how  life  in  a  provincial  town  does  narrow  a 
man  I " 

"J.  Father  hmd,  a  Husbcmd  dear  .  .  ." 

—  and  he  went  away  chuckling,  but  with  no 
malice  at  all  in  his  breast. 

Jenkins  slept  forgiven  beneath  his  twopenny- 
halfpenny  tombstone,  and  Thompson,  reflecting 
that  not  only  was  his  own  monument  designed 
(with  a  canopy  of  Carrara  marble),  but  the  cost 
of  it  invested  in  the  three  per  cents.,  walked 
contentedly  back  to  the  station,  repeating  on 
his  way  with  gentle  scorn  — 

"  A  Father  hind,  a  Husbam^d  dear, 
A  faithful  Friend,  lies  huried  hereP 

The  jingle  lulled  him  asleep  in  his  railway 
carriage,  and  he  awoke  in  London.  Driving 
home,  he  paid  the  cabby,  rushed  up  to  his  room 
three  stairs  at  a  bound,  unlocked  his  safe  and 
pulled  out  the  great  design.  In  one  comer  he 
had  even  drawn  up  a  list  of  the  eminent  men 


TWO  MONUMENTS.  221 

who  should  be  his  pall-bearers.  Certainly  such 
a  tomb  would  make  Jenkins  turn  in  his  grave. 

He  spread  the  plan  on  the  table,  with  a 
paper-weight  on  each  corner,  and  sat  down 
before  it.  After  considering  it  for  an  hour,  he 
arose  dissatisfied. 

"  Jenkins  had  a  heap  of  flowers  over  him  — 
common  flowers,  to  be  sure,  but  fresh  enough. 
I  dare  say  I  could  arrange  for  a  supply,  though. 
It's  that  confounded  doggerel  — 


'  A  Father  kind,  a  Husband  dear? 


That's  Mrs.  Jenkins's  taste,  I  suppose.  Still  — 
of  course  I  could  better  the  verse;  but  one 
can't  stick  up  a  lie  over  one's  remains.  I  wish 
to  God  I  had  a  disconsolate  wife,  or  a  child,  if 
only  to  spite  Jenkins." 

And  I  believe,  my  dear  young  lady,  that 
underneath  his  tomb  (whereon  there  now  stands 
a  marble  figure  of  Fame  and  blows  a  gilt  trum- 
pet) he  is  stiU  wishing  it. 


EGG-STEALING. 

It  wanted  less  than  an  hour  to  high  water 
when  Miss  Marty  Lear  heard  her  brother's 
boat  take  ground  on  the  narrow  beach  below 
the  garden,  and  set  the  knives  and  glasses 
straight  while  she  listened  for  the  click  of  the 
garden-latch. 

A  line  of  stunted  hazels  ran  along  the  foot  of 
the  garden  and  hid  the  landing-place  from  Miss 
Lear  as  she  stood  at  the  kitchen  window  gazing 
down  steep  alleys  of  scarlet  runners.  But 
above  the  hazels  she  could  look  across  to  the 
fruit-growing  village  of  St.  Kits,  and  catch  a 
glimpse  at  high  tide  of  the  intervening  river, 
or  towards  low  water  of  the  mud-banks  shining 
in  the  sun. 

It  was  Miss  Lear's  custom  to  look  much  on 
this  landscape  from  this  window :  had,  in  fact, 
been  her  habit  for  close  upon  forty  years.  And 
this  evening,  when  the  latch  clicked  at  length, 
and  her  brother  in  his  market-suit  come  slouch- 

223 


224  THE  DELECTABLE  DVCHT. 

ing  up  the  path  between  the  parallels  of  garden- 
stuff,  her  eyes  rested  all  the  while  upon  the  line 
of  grey  water  above  and  beyond  his  respectable 
hat. 

Nor,  when  he  entered  the  kitchen,  hitched 
this  hat  upon  a  peg  in  the  wall  —  where  its 
brim  accurately  fitted  a  sort  of  dull  halo  in  the 
white-wash  —  did  he  appear  to  want  any  wel- 
come from  her.  He  was  a  long-jawed  man  of 
sixty-five,  she  a  long-jawed  woman  of  sixty-one ; 
and  they  understood  each  other's  ways,  having 
kept  this  small  and  desolate  farm  together  for 
thirty  years  —  that  is,  since  their  father's  death. 

A  cold  turnip-pasty  stood  on  the  table,  with 
the  cider-jug  that  Job  Lear  regularly  emptied 
at  supper.  These  suggested  no  small-talk,  and 
the  pair  sat  down  to  eat  in  silence. 

It  was  only  while  holding  out  his  plate  for  a 
second  helping  of  the  pasty  that  Job  spoke  with 
a  full  mouth. 

"  Who  d'ee  reckon  I  ran  across  to-day,  down 
in  Troy  ? " 

Miss  Marty  cut  the  slice  without  troubling 
to  say  that  she  had  not  a  notion. 

"Why,  that  fellow  Amos  Trudgeon,"  he 
went  on. 


EGG-STEALING.  226 

«Tes?" 

"  'Pears  to  me  you  must  be  failin'  if  you  dis- 
remembers  'en :  son  of  old  Sal  Trudgeon,  that 
used  to  keep  the  jumble-shop  'cross  the  water : 
him  that  stole  our  eggs  back-along,  when  father 
was  livin'." 

"  I  remember." 

"  I  thought  you  must.  Why,  you  gave  evi- 
dence, to  be  sure.  Be  dashed  !  now  I  come  to 
mind,  if  you  wasn'  the  first  to  wake  the  house 
an'  say  you  heard  a  man  hoUerin'  out  down 
'pon  the  mud." 

"  Iss,  I  was." 

"  An'  saved  his  life,  though  you  did  get  'en 
two  months  in  Bodmin  Gaol  by  it.  Up  to  the 
arm-pits  he  was,  an'  not  five  minutes  to  live, 
when  we  hauled  'en  out,  an'  wonderin'  what  he 
could  be  doin'  there,  found  he'd  been  stealin' 
our  eggs.     He  inquired  after  you  to-day." 

"  Did  he  ?  " 

"  Iss.  '  How's  Miss  Marty  ?  "  says  he. 
'  Agein'  rapidly,'  says  I.  The  nerve  that 
some  folks  have  !  Comes  up  to  me  as  cool  as 
my  lord  and  holds  out  a  hand.  He've  a-grown 
into  a  sort  of  commercial ;  stomach  like  a  bow- 
window,  with  a  watch-guard  looped  across.    I'd 


226  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

a  mind  to  say  'Eggs'  to  'en,  it  so  annoyed 
me." 

"  I  hope  you  didn't." 

"ITo.  'Twould  have  seemed  like  bearin' 
malice.  'Tis  an  old  tale,  after  all,  that  feat  of 
his." 

"Nine  an'  thirty  year,  come  seventeenth  o' 
September  next.     Did  he  say  any  more  ?  " 

"  Said  the  weather-glass  was  risin',  but  too 
fast  to  put  faith  in." 

"  I  mean,  did  he  ask  any  more  about  me? " 

"  Iss :  wanted  to  know  if  you  was  married.  I 
reckon  he  meant  that  for  a  bit  o'  pleasantness." 

"  :N'ot  that !     Ah,  not  that ! " 

Job  laid  down  knife  and  fork  with  their 
points  resting  on  the  rim  of  his  plate,  and,  with 
a  lump  of  pasty  in  one  cheek,  looked  at  his 
sister.  She  had  pushed  back  her  chair  a  bit, 
and  her  fingers  were  plucking  the  edge  of  the 
table-cloth. 

"  Kot  that ! "  she  repeated  once  more,  and 
hardly  above  a  whisper.  She  did  not  lift  her 
eyes.     Before  Job  could  speak  — 

"  He  was  my  lover,"  she  said,  and  shivered. 

"Mar— ty  — " 

She  looked  up  now,  hardened  her  ugly, 


EGG-STEALING,  227 

twitcliing  face,  forced  her  eyes  to  meet  her 
brother's,  and  went  on  breathlessly — 

"I  swear  to  you,  Job  —  here,  across  this 
table  —  he  was  my  lover ;  and  I  ruined  'en.  He 
was  the  only  man,  'cept  you  and  father,  that 
ever  kissed  me ;  and  I  betrayed  'en.  As  the 
Lord  liveth,  I  stood  up  in  the  box  and  swore 
away  his  name  to  save  mine.  An'  what's 
more,  he  made  me." 

"  Mar— ty  Lear ! " 

"  Don't  hinder  me.  Job.  It's  God's  truth  I'm 
tellin'  'ee.  His  folks  were  a  low  lot,  an'  father'd 
have  broken  every  bone  o'  me.  But  we  used  to 
meet  in  the  orchard  'most  every  night.  Don't 
look  so,  brother.  I'm  past  sixty,  an'  nothin' 
known;  an'  now  evil  an'  good's  the  same  to 
me." 

"Goon." 

""Well,  the  last  night  he  came  over  'twas 
spring  tides,  an'  past  the  flood.  I  was  waitin' 
for  'en  in  the  orchard,  down  in  the  corner  by 
the  Adam's  Pearmain.  We  could  see  the  white 
front  o'  the  house  from  there,  and  us  in  the 
dark  shadow:  and  there  was  the  gap  handy, 
that  Amos  could  snip  through  at  a  pinch  — 
you  fenced  it  up  yoursel'  the  very  summer  that 


228  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

father  died  in  the  fall.  That  night,  Amos  was 
late  an'  the  dew  heavy,  an'  no  doubt  I  lost  my 
temper  waitin'  out  there  in  the  long  grass.  We 
had  words,  I  know ;  an'  I  reckon  the  tide  ran 
far  out  while  we  quarrelled.  Anyway,  he  left 
me  in  wrath,  an'  I  stood  there  under  the  apple- 
tree,  longin'  for  'en  to  come  back  an'  make 
friends  again.  But  the  time  went  on,  an'  I 
didn'  hear  his  footstep  —  no,  nor  his  oars 
puUin'  away  —  though  hearkenin'  with  all  my 
ears. 

"An'  then  I  heard  a  terrible  sound."  Miss 
Marty  paused  and  drew  the  back  of  her  hand 
across  her  dry  lips  before  proceeding. 

"  —  a  terrible  sound  —  a  sort  of  low  breathin', 
but  fierce ;  an'  something  worse,  a  suck-suckin' 
of  the  mud  below ;  an'  I  ran  down.  I  suppose, 
in  his  anger,  he  took  no  care  how  he  walked 
round  the  point  (for  he  al'ays  moored  his  boat 
round  the  point,  out  o'  sight),  an'  went  wide'  an' 
was  taken.  There  he  was,  above  his  knees  in 
it,  and  far  out  it  seemed  to  me,  in  the  light  o' 
the  young  moon.  For  all  his  fightin',  he  heard 
me,  and  whispers  out  o'  the  dark  — 

"  '  Little  girl,  it's  got  me.  Hush !  don't  shout, 
or  they'll  catch  you.' 


EGG-STEALING.  229 

" '  Can't  you  get  out  ? '  I  whispered  back. 

"'1^0,'  says  he,  'I'm  afraid  I  can't,  unless 
you  run  up  to  the  linhay  an'  fetch  a  rope.' 

"  It  was  no  more  I  stayed  to  hear,  but  ran 
up  hot-foot  to  the  linhay  and  back  inside  the 
minute,  with  the  waggon  rope. 

" '  Hold  the  end,'  he  panted,  '  and  throw  with 
all  your  strength.'  And  I  threw,  but  the  rope 
fell  short.  Twice  again  I  threw,  but  missed 
each  cast  by  a  yard  and  more.  He  wouldn't 
let  me  come  near  the  mud. 

"  Then  I  fell  to  runnin'  to  an'  fro  on  the  edge 
o'  the  firm  ground,  an'  sobbin'  between  my 
teeth  because  I  could  devise  nothin'.  And  all 
the  while  he  was  fightin'  hard. 

" '  I'U  run  an'  call  father  an'  Job,'  says  I. 

" '  Hush  'ee  now !  Be  you  crazed  ?  Do  you 
want  to  let  'em  know  all  ? ' 

"  'But  it'U  kiU  you,  dear,  won't  it  ? ' 

"'Likely  it  wiU,'  said  he.  Then,  after  a 
while  of  battlin',  he  whispers  again,  '  Little 
girl,  I  don't  want  to  die.  Death  is  a  cold  end. 
But  I  reckon  you  shall  save  me  an'  your  name 
as  well.  Take  the  rope,  coil  it  as  you  run,  and 
hang  it  back  in  the  linhay,  quick !  Then  run 
you  to  the  hen-house  an'  bring  me  all  the  eggs 


230  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

you  can  find.  Be  quick  and  ax  no  questions, 
for  it's  little  longer  I  can  hold  up.  It's  above 
my  waist,'  he  says. 

"I  didn'  know  what  he  meant,  but  ran  for 
my  life  to  the  linhay,  and  hung  up  the  rope, 
an'  then  to  the  hen-house.  I  could  tell  prety 
well  where  to  find  a  dozen  eggs  or  more  in  the 
dark,  an'  in  three  minutes  I'd  groped  about  an' 
gathered  'em  in  the  lap  o'  my  dress.  Then 
back  I  ran.  I  could  just  spy  'en  —  a  dark  spot 
out  there  in  the  mud. 

" '  How  many  ? '  he  axed,  an'  his  voice  was 
like  a  rook's. 

"  '  A  dozen,  or  near.' 

"  '  Toss  'em  here.  Don't  come  too  nigh,  an' 
shy  careful,  so's  I  can  catch.' 

"  I  stepped  down  pretty  nigh  to  the  brim  o' 
the  mud  an'  tossed  'em  out  to  him.  Three  feU 
short  in  my  hurry,  but  the  rest  he  got  hold  of 
somehow. 

" '  That's  right,'  he  calls,  hoarse  and  low, 
'  they'll  think  egg-stealin'  nateral  to  a  low 
family  like  our'n.  l^ow  back  to  your  room  — 
undress  —  an'  cry  out,  sayin',  there's  a  man 
shoutin'  for  help  down  'pon  the  mud;  and, 
dear,     be    quick!      "When     you    wave    your 


EGG-STEALING.  231 

candle  twice  at  the  window,  I'll  shout  like  a 
Trojan.' 

"  An'  I  did  it,  Job ;  for  the  cruelty  in  a  fear- 
ful woman  passes  knowledge.  An'  you  rescued 
'en,  an'  he  went  to  gaol.  For  he  said  'twas 
the  only  way.  An'  his  mother  took  it  as  quite 
reasonable  that  her  husband's  son  should  take 
to  the  bad  —  'twas  the  way  of  all  them  Trud- 
geons.  Father  to  son,  they  was  of  no  account. 
Egg-stealin'  was  just  the  little  hole-an'-corner 
wickedness  that  'd  come  nateral  to  'em." 

"  I  rec'lect  now,"  said  Job  Lear  very  slowly, 
"  that  the  wain-rope  was  wet  i'  my  hands  when 
I  unhitched  'en  that  night  from  the  hook,  an' 
I  wondered,  it  bein'  the  end  of  a  week's  dryth. 
But  in  the  dark  an'  the  confusion  o'  savin' 
the  wastrel's  life  it  slipped  my  thoughts, 
else  —  " 

"  Else  you'd  ha'  wetted  it  wi'  the  blood  o' 
my  back.  Job.  But  the  rope's  been  frayed  to 
powder  this  many  year.  An'  you  needn't  look 
at  me  like  that.  I'm  past  sixty,  an'  I've  done 
my  share  of  repentin'.  He  didn't  say  if  he  was 
married,  did  he  \ " 


SEYEN-AK'-SIX. 

The  old  fish-market  at  Troy  was  just  a 
sagged  lean-to  roof  on  the  northern  side  of  the 
To\yn  Quay,  resting  against  the  dead  wall  of 
the  harbour-master's  house,  and  propped  in 
front  by  four  squat  granite  columns.  This 
roof  often  let  in  rain  enough  to  fill  the  pits 
worn  in  the  paving-stones  by  the  feet  of  gos- 
siping generations;  and  the  whole  was  wisely 
demolished  a  few  years  back  to  make  place  for 
a  Working  Men's  Institute  —  a  red  building, 
where  they  take  in  all  the  chief  London  news- 
papers. Nevertheless  I  have,  in  some  moods, 
caught  myself  hankering  after  the  old  shelter, 
where  the  talk  was  unchartered  always,  and 
where  no  notices  were  suspended  against  smok- 
ing; and  I  know  it  used  to  be  worth  visiting 
on  dirty  evenings  about  the  time  of  the  Equi- 
nox, when  the  town-folk  assembled  to  watch 
the  high  tide  and  the  chances  of  its  flooding 
the  streets  about  the  quay. 

233 


234  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

Early  one  September  afternoon,  about  two 
years  before  its  destruction,  a  small  group  of 
watermen,  a  woman  or  two,  and  a  fringe  of 
small  children  were  gathered  in  the  fish-market 
around  a  painter  and  his  easel.  The  painter  — 
locally  known  as  Seven-an'-Six  —  was  a  white- 
haired  little  man,  with  a  clean-shaven  face,  a 
complexion  of  cream  and  roses,  a  high  un- 
wrinkled  brow,  and  blue  eyes  that  beamed  an 
engaging  trustfulness  on  his  fellow-creatures,  of 
whom  he  stood  ready  to  paint  any  number  at 
seven  shillings  and  sixpence  a  head.  As  this 
method  of  earning  a  livelihood  did  not  allow 
him  to  sojourn  long  in  one  place  —  which, 
indeed,  was  far  from  his  desire  —  he  spent  a 
great  part  of  his  time  upon  the  cheaper  seats 
of  obscure  country  vehicles.  He  delighted  in 
this  life  of  perennial  transience,  and  enjoyed 
painting  the  portraits  which  justified  it;  and 
was,  on  the  whole,  one  of  the  happiest  of  men. 

Just  now  he  was  enjoying  himself  amaz- 
ingly, being  keenly  alive  not  merely  to  the 
crowd's  admiration,  but  to  the  rare  charm  of 
that  which  he  was  trying  to  paint.  Some  six 
paces  before  him  there  leant  against  one  of 
the    granite    pillars    a  woman    of    exceeding 


BEVEN'AN'-aiX.  235 

beauty :  her  figure  tall,  supple,  full  of  strength 
in  every  line,  her  face  brown  and  broad-browed, 
with  a  heavy  chin  that  gave  character  to  the 
rest  of  her  features,  and  large  eyes,  black  as 
sloes,  that  regarded  the  artist  and  the  group 
at  his  elbow  with  a  sombre  disdain.  The 
afternoon  sunshine  slanted  down  the  pillar, 
was  broken  by  the  mass  of  dark  hair  she 
rested  against  it,  and  ran  down  again  along 
her  firm  and  rounded  arm  to  the  sun-bonnet 
she  dangled  by  its  strings.  Behind  her,  the 
quay's  edge  shone  bright  against  the  green 
water  of  the  harbour,  where,  half  a  cable's 
length  from  shore,  a  small  three-masted 
schooner  lay  at  anchor,  with  her  Blue  Peter 
fluttering  at  the  fore. 

"  He's  gettin'  her  to-rights,"  observed  one  of 
the  crowd. 

A  woman  said,  "I  wish  I'd  a-been  took  in 
my  young  days,  when  I  was  comely." 

"  Then,  whyever  wasn't  'ee,  Mrs.  Slade  ? " 

"  Well-a-well,  my  dear,  I'm  sure  I  dunno. 
Three  ha'af-crowns  is  a  lot  o'  money  to  see 
piled  in  your  palm,  an'  say  '  Fare  thee  well ; 
increase ! '  Store  's  no  sore,  as  my  old  mother 
used  to  say." 


236  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"  But,"  argued  a  man,  "  when  once  you've 
made  up  your  mind  to  the  gallant  speckilation, 
you  never  regret  it  —  danged  if  you  do ! " 

"  Then  why  hasn't  'ee  been  took,  Thomas, 
in  all  these  years  ? " 

"Because  that  little  emmet  o'  doubt  gets 
the  better  o'  me  every  time.  'Tis  like  holdin' 
back  from  the  Fifteen  Balls:  you  feel  sure 
in  your  own  mind  you'll  be  better  wi'out  the 
drink,  but  for  your  life  you  durstn't  risk  the 
disapp'intment.  Over  this  matter  I'll  grant  ye 
that  I  preaches  what  I  can't  practise.  But  my 
preachin'  is  sound.  Therefore,  I  bid  ye  aU 
follow  the  example  o'  Cap'n  Hosken  here,  who, 
bein'  possessed  wi'  true  love  for  'Liza  Saunders, 
is  havin'  her  portrait  took  for  to  hang  up  in 
his  narrow  cabin  out  to  sea,  an'  remind  hissel' 
o'  the  charms  that  bide  at  home  a-languish- 
in'." 

"That's  not  my  reason,  though,"  said  Cap- 
tain Hosken,  a  sunburnt  and  serious  man,  at 
the  painter's  elbow. 

"  Then  what  may  it  be,  makin'  so  bold  ? " 

"  I'll  tell  ye  when  the  painting's  done." 

"  A  couple  of  strokes,  and  it's  finished,"  said 
the  artist,  cocking  his  head  on  one  side  and 


SEVEN-AN'-SIX.  237 

screwing  up  his  blue  eyes.  "  There,  I'll  tell 
you  plainly,  friend,  that  my  skill  is  but  a  seven- 
and-sixpenny  matter,  or  a  trifle  beyond.  It 
does  well  enough  what  it  pretends  to  do;  but 
this  is  a  subject  I  never  ought  to  have  touched. 
I  know  my  limits.  You'll  see,  sir,"  he  went  on, 
in  a  more  business-like  tone,  "I've  indicated 
your  ship  here  in  the  middle  distance.  I 
thought  it  would  give  the  portrait  just  that 
touch  of  sentiment  you  would  desire." 

The  faces  gathered  closer  to  stare.  'Liza 
left  the  pillar,  stretched  herself  to  her  full 
height,  and  came  forward,  tying  the  strings  of 
her  sun-bonnet. 

"'Tis  the  very  daps  of  her!"  was  Captain 
Hosken's  comment  as  he  pulled  out  his  three 
half-crowns.  "As  for  the  liare  Plant,  what 
you've  put  in  might  be  took  for  a  vessel ;  and 
if  a  man  took  it  for  a  vessel,  he  might  go  on  to 
take  it  for  a  schooner ;  but  I'd  be  tolerable  sorry 
if  he  took  it  for  a  schooner  o'  which  I  was 
master.  Hows'ever,  you've  put  in  all  'Liza's 
good  looks  an'  enticingness.  'Tis  a  picture  I'm 
glad  to  own,  an'  be  dashed  to  the  sentiment 
you  talked  about ! " 

He  took    the    portrait    carefully  from    the 


238  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCEY. 

easel,  and  held  it  before  him,  between  his 
open  palms. 

"  Il^Teighbours  all,"  he  began,  his  rather  stupid 
face  overspread  with  an  expression  of  satisfied 
cunning,  "  I  promised  to  tell  'ee  my  reasons  for 
havin'  'Liza's  portrait  took.  They're  rather 
out  o'  the  coromon,  an'  'Liza  hersel'  don't  guess 
what  they  be,  no  more  than  the  biggest  fool 
here  present  amongst  us." 

He  looked  from  the  man  Thomas,  from 
whose  countenance  this  last  innuendo  glanced 
off  as  from  a  stone  wall,  to  'Liza,  who  answered 
him  with  a  puzzled  scowl.  Her  foot  began  to 
tap  the  paving-stone  impatiently. 

""When  I  gazes  'pon  'Liza,"  he  pursued, 
"  my  eyes  be  fairly  dazzled  wi'  the  looks  o'  her. 
I  allow  that.  She's  got  that  build,  an'  them 
lines  about  the  neck  an'  waist,  an'  them  red- 
ripe  lips,  that  I  feels  no  care  to  look  'pon  any 
other  woman.  That's  why  I  took  up  wi'  her, 
an'  offered  her  my  true  heart.  But  strike  me 
if  I'd  counted  'pon  her  temper;  an'  she's  got 
the  temper  of  Old  Nick !  Why,  only  last  even- 
in' —  the  very  evenin'  before  I  sailed,  mark 
ye  —  she  slapped  my  ear.  She  did,  though! 
Says  I,  down  under   my  breath,  'Right  you 


SEVEN-AN'-SIX.  239 

are,  my  lady !  we'll  be  quits  for  that.'  But, 
you  see,  I  couldn'  bear  to  break  it  off  wi'  her, 
because  I  didn'  want  to  miss  her  beautiful 
looks." 

The  women  began  to  titter,  and  'Liza's  face  to 
flame,  but  her  lover  proceeded  with  great  com- 
placency : 

"  Well,  I  was  beset  in  my  mind  till  an  hour 
agone,  when  —  as  I  walked  down  here  with 
'Liza,  half  mad  to  take  leave  of  her,  and  sail  for 
Rio  Grande,  and  likewise  sick  of  her  temper — 
I  sees  this  gentleman  a-doin'  pictures  at  seven- 
an'-six ;  and  thinks  I,  '  If  I  can  get  'en  to  make 
a  copy  of  'Liza's  good  looks,  then  I  shall  take 
off  to  sea  as  much  as  I  want  of  her,  an'  the  rest, 
temper  included,  can  bide  at  home  till  I  calls 
for  it.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say.  'Liza's  a 
beauty  beyond  compare,  an'  her  beauty  I  wor- 
ships, an'  means  to  worship.  But  if  any  young 
man  wants  to  take  her,  I  tell  him  he's  welcome. 
Solongt'yeaU!" 

Still  holding  the  canvas  carefully  a  foot  from 
his  waistcoat,  to  avoid  smearing  it,  he  sauntered 
off  to  the  quay-steps,  and  hailed  his  boat  to 
carry  him  aboard  the  liare  Plant.  As  he  passed 
the  girl  he  had  thus  publicly  jilted,  her  fingers 


240  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCET. 

contracted  for  a  second  like  a  hawk's  talons ;  but 
she  stood  still,  and  watched  him  from  under  her 
brows  as  he  descended  the  steps.  Then  with  a 
look  that,  as  it  travelled  in  a  semi-circle,  obliter- 
ated the  sympathy  which  most  of  the  men  put 
into  their  faces,  and  the  sneaking  delight  which 
all  the  women  wore  on  theirs,  she  strode  out 
of  the  fish-market  and  up  the  street, 

Seven-an'-Six  squeezed  the  paint  out  of  his 
brushes,  packed  up  his  easel  and  japanned  box, 
wished  the  company  good-day,  and  strolled  back 
to  his  inn.  He  was  sincerely  distressed,  and 
regretted  a  hundred  times  in  the  course  of  that 
evening  that  he  had  parted  with  the  portrait 
and  received  its  price  before  Captain  Hosken 
had  made  that  speech.  He  would  (he  told  him- 
self) have  run  his  knife  through  the  canvas,  and 
gladly  forfeited  the  money.  As  it  was,  he 
lingered  long  over  the  supper  it  procured,  and 
ate  heartily. 

A  mile  beyond  the  town,  next  morning, 
Boutigo's  van,  in  which  he  was  the  only  pas- 
senger, pulled  up  in  front  of  a  roadside  cottage. 
A  bundle  and  a  tin  box  were  hoisted  up  by 
Boutigo,  and  a  girl  climbed  in.     It  was  'Liza. 


SEVEN-AN'-SIX.  241 

"  Oh,  good  morning ! "  stammered  the  little 
painter. 

"I'm  going  to  stay  with  my  aunt  in 
Truro,  and  seek  service,"  the  girl  announced, 
keeping  her  eye  upon  him,  and  her  colour 
down  with  an  effort.  "  Where  are  you 
bound?" 

"I?  Oh,  I  travel  about,  now  in  one  place, 
next  day  in  another — always  moving.  It's 
the  breath  of  life  to  me,  moving  around." 

"  That  must  be  nice !  I  often  wonder  why 
men  tie  themselves  up  to  a  wife  when  they 
might  be  free  to  move  about  like  you,  and  see 
the  world.  What  does  a  man  want  to  tack  a 
wife  on  to  him  when  he  can  always  carry  her 
image  about?"  She  laughed,  without  much 
bitterness. 

"But — "  began  the  amiable  painter,  and 
checked  himself.  He  had  been  about  to  con- 
fess that  he  himself  owned  a  wife  and  four 
healthy  children.  He  saw  this  family  about 
once  in  two  months,  and  it  existed  by  letting 
out  lodgings  in  a  small  unpaintable  town.  He 
was  sincerely  fond  of  his  wife,  who  made 
every  allowance  for  his  mercurial  nature;  but 
it  suddenly  struck  him  that  her  portrait  hung 


242  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

in  the  parlour  at  home,  and  had  never  accom- 
panied him  on  his  travels. 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then 
began  to  converse  on  ordinary  topics. 


THE  KEGENT'S  WAGER. 

BouTiGo's  van  —  officially  styled  TJie  Vivid 
—  had  just  issued  from  the  Packhorse  Yard, 
Tregarrick,  a  leisurely  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
behind  its  advertised  time,  and  was  scaling  the 
acclivity  of  St.  Fimbar's  Street  in  a  series  of 
short  tacks.  Now  and  then  it  halted  to  take 
up  a  passenger  or  a  parcel ;  and  on  these  occa- 
sions Boutigo  produced  a  couple  of  big  stones 
from  his  hip-pockets  and  slipped  them  under 
the  hind-wheels,  while  we,  his  patrons  within 
the  van,  tilted  at  an  angle  of  15°  upon  cushions 
of  American  cloth,  sought  for  new  centres  of 
gravity,  and  earnestly  desired  the  summit. 

It  was  on  the  summit,  where  the  considerate 
Boutigo  gave  us  a  minute's  pause  to  rearrange 
ourselves  and  our  belongings,  that  we  slipped 
into  easy  and  general  talk.  An  old  country- 
man, with  an  empty  poultry-basket  on  his 
knees,  and  a  battered  top-hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  gave  us  the  cue. 

"When  Boutigo's  father  had  the  accident  — 
243 


244  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

that  was  back  in  'fifty-six,'  and  it  broke  his 
leg  an'  two  ribs  —  the  van  started  from  close 
'pon  the  knap  o'  the  hill  here,  and  scat  itself 
to  bits  against  the  bridge  at  the  foot  just  two 
and  a  half  minutes  after." 

I  suggested  that  this  was  not  very  fast  for 
a  runaway  horse. 

"  I  dessay  not,"  he  answered ;  "  but  'twas 
pretty  spry  for  a  van  slippin'  haclcwards,  and 
the  old  mare  diggin'  her  toes  in  aU  the  way  to 
hold  it  up." 

One  or  two  of  the  passengers  grinned  at  my 
expense,  and  the  old  man  pursued  — 

"  But  if  you  want  to  know  how  fast  a  hoss 
can  get  down  St.  Fimbar's  hill,  I  reckon  you've 
lost  your  chance  by  not  axin'  Dan'l  Best,  that 
died  up  to  the  'Sylum  twelve  years  since; 
though,  poor  soul,  he'd  but  one  answer  for 
every  question  from  his  seven-an'-twentieth 
year  to  his  end,  an'  that  was  '  One,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  six,  seven." 

"  Ah,  the  poor  body !  his  was  a  wisht  case," 
a  woman  observed  from  the  corner  furthest 
from  the  door. 

"  Ay,  Selina,  and  fast  forgotten,  like  all  the 
doin's  and  sufferin's  of  the  men  of  old  time." 


THE  regent's  wager.  245 

He  reached  a  hand  round  his  basket,  and 
touching  me  on  the  knee,  pointed  back  on 
Tregarrick.  "  There's  a  wall,"  he  said,  and  I 
saw  by  the  direction  of  his  finger  that  he  meant 
the  wall  of  the  county  prison,  "and  beneath 
that  wall's  a  road,  and  across  that  road's  a 
dismal  pool,  and  beyond  that  pool's  a  green 
hillside,  with  a  road  athurt  it  that  comes  down 
and  crosses  by  the  pool's  head.  Standin'  'pon 
that  hiUside  you  can  see  a  door  in  the  wall, 
twenty  feet  above  the  ground,  an'  openin'  on 
nothing.  Leastways,  you  could  see  it  once ; 
an'  even  now,  if  ye've  good  eyesight,  ye  can 
see  where  they've  bricked  it  up." 

I  could,  in  fact,  even  at  our  distance,  detect 
the  patch  of  recent  stone-work ;  and  knew 
something  of  its  history. 

"  Kow,"  the  old  man  continued,  "  turn  your 
looks  to  the  right  and  mark  the  face  of  Tre- 
garrick town-clock.  You  see  it,  hey  ?  "  —  and 
I  had  time  to  read  the  hour  on  its  dial  before 
Boutigo  jolted  us  over  the  ridge  and  out  of 
sight  of  it  —  "  WeU,  carry  them  two  things  in 
your  mind :  for  they  mazed  Dan'l  Best  an' 
murdered  his  brother  Hughie." 

And,  much  as  I  shall  repeat  it,  he  told  me 


246  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

this  tale,  pausing  now  and  again  to  be  corrobo- 
rated by  the  woman  in  the  corner.  The  history, 
my  dear  reader,  is  accurate  enough  —  for  Bouti- 
go's  van. 

There  lived  a  young  man  in  Tregarrick  in 
the  time  of  the  French  "War.  His  name  was 
Dan'l  Best,  and  he  had  an  only  brother  Hughie, 
just  three  years  younger  than  himself.  Their 
father  and  mother  had  died  of  the  small-pox 
and  left  them,  when  quite  young  children,  upon 
the  parish :  but  old  Walters  of  the  Packhorse 
—  he  was  great-grandfather  of  the  Walters  that 
keeps  it  now  — took  a  liking  to  them  and 
employed  them,  first  about  his  stables  and  in 
course  of  time  as  post-boys.  Yery  good  post- 
boys they  were,  too,  till  Hughie  took  to 
drinking  and  wenching  and  cards  and  other 
devil's  tricks.  Dan'l  was  always  a  steady  sort : 
walked  with  a  nice  young  woman  that  was 
under-housemaid  up  to  the  old  Lord  Bellarmine's 
at  Castle  Cannick,  and  was  saving  up  to  be 
married,  when  Hughie  robbed  the  mail. 

Hughie  robbed  the  mail  out  of  doubt.  He 
did  it  up  by  Tippet's  Barrow,  just  beyond  the 
cross-roads  where  the  scarlet  gig  used  to  meet 


THE  REGENTS   WAGER.  247 

the  coach  and  take  the  mails  for  Castle  Cannick 
and  beyond  to  Tolquite.  Billy  Phillips,  that 
drove  the  gig,  was  found  in  the  ditch  with  his 
mouth  gagged,  and  swore  to  Hughie's  being  the 
man.  The  Lord  Chief  Justice,  too,  summed  up 
dead  against  him,  and  the  jury  didn't  even  leave 
the  box.  And  the  moral  was,  "  Hughie  Best, 
you're  to  be  taken  to  the  place  whence  you 
come  from,  ancetera,  and  may  the  Lord  have 
mercy  upon  your  soul ! " 

You  may  fancy  what  a  blow  this  was  to 
Dan'l ;  for  though  fine  and  vexed  with  Hughie's 
evil  courses,  he'd  never  guessed  the  worst,  nor 
anything  like  it.  N"ot  a  doubt  had  he,  nor 
could  have,  that  Hughie  was  guilty ;  but  he 
went  straight  from  the  court  to  his  young 
woman  and  said,  "I've  saved  money  for  us 
to  be  married  on.  There's  little  chance  that  I 
can  win  Hughie  a  reprieve;  and,  whether  or 
no,  it  will  eat  up  all,  or  nearly  all,  my  savings. 
Only  he's  my  one  brother.  Shall  I  go?  "  And 
she  said,  "  Go,  my  dear,  if  I  wait  ten  years  for 
you."  So  he  borrowed  a  horse  for  a  stage  or 
two,  and  then  hired,  and  so  got  to  London,  on 
a  fool's  chase,  as  it  seemed. 

The  fellow's  purpose,  of  course,  was  to  see 


248  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

King  George.  But  King  George,  as  it  happened, 
was  daft  just  then ;  and  George  his  son  reigned 
in  his  stead,  being  called  the  Prince  Regent. 
Weary  days  did  Dan'l  air  his  heels  with  one 
Minister  of  the  Crown  after  another  before  he 
could  get  to  see  this  same  Regent,  and  'tis  to 
be  supposed  that  the  great  city,  being  new  to 
him,  weighed  heavy  on  his  spirits.  And  all 
the  time  he  had  but  one  plea,  that  his  brother 
was  no  more  than  a  boy  and  hadn't  an  ounce 
of  vice  in  his  nature  —  which  was  well  enough 
beknown  to  all  in  Tregarrick,  but  didn't  go 
down  with  His  Majesty's  advisers :  while  as 
for  the  Prince  Regent,  Dan'l  couldn't  get  to 
see  him  till  the  "Wednesday  evening  that  Hughie 
was  to  be  hanged  on  the  Friday,  and  then  his 
Royal  Highness  spoke  him  neither  soft  nor 
hopeful. 

"  The  case  was  clear  as  God's  daylight,"  said 
he  :  "  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  tells  me  that  the 
jury  didn't  even  quit  the  box." 

"Your  Royal  Highness  must  excuse  me," 
said  Dan'l,  "  but  I  never  shall  be  able  to  respect 
that  judge.  My  opinion  of  a  judge  is,  he  should 
be  like  a  stickler  and  see  fair  play;  but  this 
here  chap  took  sides  against  Hughie  from  the 


THE  REGENTS    WAGER.  249 

first.  If  I  was  you,"  lie  said,  "  I  wouldn't  trust 
him  with  a  Petty  Sessions." 

"Well,  you  may  think  how  likely  this  kind 
of  speech  was  to  please  the  Prince  Kegent. 
And  I've  heard  that  Dan'l  was  in  the  very 
article  of  being  pitched  out,  neck  and  crop, 
when  he  heard  a  regular  caprouse  start  up  in 
the  antechamber  behind  him,  and  a  lord-in-wait- 
ing, or  whatever  he's  called,  comes  in  and  speaks 
a  word  very  low  to  the  Prince. 

"Show  him  in  at  once,"  says  he,  dropping 
poor  Dan'l's  petition  upon  the  table  beside  him ; 
and  in  there  walks  a  young  officer  with  his 
boots  soiled  with  riding  and  the  searsalt  in  his 
hair,  like  as  if  he'd  just  come  off  a  ship ;  and 
hands  the  Prince  a  big  letter.  The  Prince 
hardly  cast  his  eye  over  what  was  written 
before  he  outs  with  a  lusty  hurrah,  as  well  he 
might,  for  this  was  the  first  news  of  the  taking 
of  St.  Sebastian. 

"  Here's  news,"  said  he,  "  to  fill  the  country 
with  bonfires  this  night." 

"Begging  your  Royal  Highness's  pardon," 
answers  the  officer,  pulling  out  his  watch ;  "  but 
the  mail  coaches  have  left  St.  Martin's  Lane  "  — 
that's  where  they  started  from,  as  I've  heard 
teU  —  "  these  twenty  minutes." 


250  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

"  Damn  it ! "  says  Dan'l  Best  and  the  Prince 
Kegent,  both  in  one  breath. 

"  Hulloa !  Be  you  here  still  ? "  says  the 
Prince,  turning  sharp  round  at  the  sound  of 
Dan'l's  voice.   "And  what  be  you  waiting  for  ? " 

"For  my  brother  Hughie's  reprieve,"  says 
Dan'l. 

"  "WeU,  but  'tis  too  late  now,  anyway,"  says 
the  Prince. 

"  I'U  bet  'tis  not,"  says  Dan'l,  "  if  you'll  look 
slippy  and  make  out  the  paper." 

"You  can't  do  it.  'Tis  over  two  hundred 
and  fifty  miles,  and  you  can't  travel  ten  miles 
an  hour  all  the  way  like  the  coach." 

"It'll  reach  Tregarrick  to-morrow  night," 
says  Dan'l,  "an'  they  won't  hang  Hughie  till 
seven  in  the  morning.  So  I've  an  hour  or  two 
to  spare,  and  being  a  post-boy  myself,  I  know 
the  ropes." 

"  Well,"  says  his  Royal  Highness,  "  I'm  in  a 
very  good  temper  because  of  this  here  glorious 
storming  of  St.  Sebastian.  So  I'll  wager  your 
brother's  life  you  don't  get  there  in  time  to  stop 
the  execution." 

"  Done  with  you,  O  King ! "  says  Dan'l,  and 
the  reprieve  was  made  out,  quick  as  lightning. 


THE  REGENT'S   WAGEB.  251 

Well,  sir,  Dan'l  knew  the  ropes,  as  he  said ; 
and,  moreover,  I  reckon  there  was  a  kind  of 
freemasonry  among  post-boys ;  and  the  two  to- 
gether, taken  with  his  knowledge  o'  horseflesh, 
helped  him  down  the  road  as  never  a  man  was 
helped  before  or  since.  'Twas  striking  nine  at 
night  when  he  started  out  of  London  with  the 
reprieve  in  his  pocket,  and  by  half-past  five  in 
the  morning  he  spied  Salisbury  spire  lifting  out 
of  the  morning  light.  There  was  some  hitch 
here — the  first  he  met  —  in  getting  a  relay; 
but  by  six  he  was  off  again,  and  passed  through 
Exeter  early  in  the  afternoon.  Down  came  a 
heavy  rain  as  the  evening  drew  in,  and  before 
he  reached  Okehampton  the  roads  were  like  a 
bog.  Here  it  was  that  the  anguish  began,  and 
of  course  to  Dan'l,  who  found  himself  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  sitting  in  the  chaise  instead 
of  in  the  saddle,  'twas  the  deuce's  own  torment 
to  hold  himself  still,  feel  the  time  slipping  away, 
and  not  be  riding  and  getting  every  ounce  out 
of  the  beasts :  though,  even  to  his  eye,  the  rider 
in  front  was  no  fool.  But  at  Launceston  soon 
after  daybreak  he  met  with  a  misfortune  indeed. 
A  lot  of  folks  had  driven  down  overnight  to 
Tregarrick  to  witness  the  day's  sad  doings,  and 


252  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

there  wasn't  a  chaise  to  be  had  in  the  town  for 
love  or  money. 

"  What  do  I  want  with  a  chaise  ? "  said  Dan'l, 
for  of  course  he  was  in  his  own  country  now, 
and  everybody  knew  him.  "For  the  love  of 
God,  give  me  a  horse  that'll  take  me  into 
Tregarrick  before  seven  and  save  Hughie's 
life !    Man,  I've  got  a  reprieve ! " 

"Dear  lad,  is  that  so?"  said  the  landlord, 
who  had  come  down,  and  was  standing  by 
the  hotel  door  in  nightcap  and  bedgown.  "  I 
thought,  maybe,  you  was  hurrying  to  see  the 
last  of  your  brother.  "Well,  there's  but  one 
horse  left  in  stable,  and  that's  the  grey  your 
master  sold  me  two  months  back;  and  he's  a 
screw,  as  you  must  know.  But  here's  the 
stable  key.  Eun  and  take  him  out  yourself, 
and  God  go  with  'ee ! " 

None  knew  better  than  Dan'l  that  the  grey 
was  a  screw.  But  he  ran  down  to  the  stable, 
fetched  the  beast  out,  and  didn't  even  wait  to 
shift  his  halter  for  a  bridle,  but  caught  up  the 
half  of  a  broken  mop-handle  that  lay  by  the 
stable  door,  and  with  no  better  riding  whip 
galloped  off  bare-back  towards  Tregarrick. 

Aye,  sir,  and  he  almost  won  his  race  in  spite 


THE  REGENT'S   WAGER.  253 

of  all.  The  hands  o'  the  town  clock  were  close 
upon  seven  as  he  came  galloping  over  the  knap 
of  the  hill  and  saw  the  booths  below  him  and 
sweet-stalls  and  standings — for  on  such  days 
'twas  as  good  as  a  fair  in  Tregarrick  —  and  the 
crowd  under  the  prison  wall.  And  there,  above 
them,  he  could  see  the  little  open  doorway  in 
the  wall,  and  one  or  two  black  figures  there, 
and  the  beam.  Just  as  he  saw  this  the  clock 
struck  its  first  note,  and  Dan'l,  still  riding  like 
a  madman,  let  out  a  scream,  and  waved  the 
paper  over  his  head ;  but  the  distance  was  too 
great.  Seven  times  the  clapper  struck,  and 
with  each  stroke  Dan'l  screamed,  still  riding 
and  keeping  his  eyes  mpon  that  little  doorway. 
But  a  second  or  two  after  the  last  stroke  he 
dropped  his  arm  suddenly  as  if  a  bullet  had 
gone  through  it,  and  screamed  no  more.  Less 
than  a  minute  after,  sir,  he  pulled  up  by  the 
bridge  on  the  skirt  of  the  crowd,  and  looked 
round  him  with  a  silly  smile. 

"  Neighbours,"  says  he,  "  I've  a~got  great 
news  for  ye.  "We've  a-taken  St.  Sebastian,  and 
by  all  acounts  the  Frenchies  '11  be  drove  out 
of  Spain  in  less  'n  a  week." 


254  TEE  DELECTABLE  BUCEY. 

There  was  silence  in  Boutigo's  van  for  a  full 
minute;  and  then  the  old  woman  spoke  from 
the  corner : 

"  Well,  go  on,  Sam,  and  tell  the  finish  to  the 
company." 

"  Is  there  more  to  tell  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Sam,  leaning  forward  again 
and  tapping  my  knee  very  gently,  "  there  were 
two  men  condemned  at  Tregarrick,  that  Assize ; 
and  two  men  put  to  death  that  morning.  The 
first  to  go  was  a  sheep-stealer.  Ten  minutes 
after,  Dan'l  saw  Hughie  his  brother  led  forth ; 
and  stood  there  and  watched,  with  the  reprieve 
in  his  hand.  His  wits  were  gone,  and  he  chit- 
chattered  all  the  time  about  St.  Sebastian. 


LOVE  OF  KAOMI. 

I. 

The  house  known  as  Yellan's  Kents  stands 
in  the  Chy-pons  over  the  waterside,  a  stone's 
throw  beyond  the  ferry  and  the  archway  where 
the  toll-keeper  used  to  live.  You  may  know  it 
by  its  exceeding  dilapidation  and  by  the  clouds 
of  steam  that  issue  on  the  street  from  one  of  its 
windows.  The  sill  of  this  window  stands  a 
bare  foot  above  the  causeway,  and  glancing 
down  into  the  room  as  you  pass,  you  will  see 
the  shoulders  of  a  woman  stooping  over  a 
wash-tub.  "When  first  I  used  to  pass  this 
window  the  woman  was  called  Naomi  Brick- 
neU;  later  it  was  Sarah  Ann  Polgrain;  and 
now  it  is  (euphemistically)  Pretty  Alice.  One 
goes  and  makes  way  for  another,  but  the  wash- 
tub  is  always  there  and  the  rheumatic  fever; 
and  while  these  remain  they  will  never  lack,  as 
they  have  never  lacked  yet,  for  a  woman  to  do 
battle  for  dear  life  between  them. 
256 


256  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT.  ^ 

But  my  story  concerns  the  first  of  these  only, 
Naomi  Bricknell.  She  and  her  mother  occupied 
two  rooms  in  Yellan's  Rents  as  far  back  as  I 
can  remember,  and  were  twisted  with  the  fever 
about  once  in  every  six  months.  For  this  they 
paid  one  shilling  a  week  rent.  If  you  lift  the 
latch  and  push  the  front  door  open,  you  seem 
at  first  to  be  looking  down  a  well ;  for  a  flight 
of  thirty-two  steps  plunges  straight  from  the 
threshold  to  the  quay  door  and  a  square  of 
green  water  there.  And  when  the  sun  is  on 
the  water  at  the  bottom  of  this  funnel,  the 
effect  is  pretty.  But  taking  note  of  the  cold 
wind  that  rushes  up  this  stairway  and  into  the 
steaming  room  where  the  wash-tub  stands,  you 
will  understand  how  it  comes  that  each  new 
tenant  takes  over  the  rheumatic  fever  as  one 
of  the  fixtures. 

In  a  room  to  the  right  of  the  stairway,  and 
facing  Naomi's,  lived  a  middle-aged  man  who 
was  always  known  as  Long  Oliver.  This  man 
was  a  native  of  the  port,  and  it  was  understood 
that  he  and  Naomi  had  been  well  acquainted, 
years  ago,  before  he  started  on  his  first  voyage 
and  some  time  before  Naomi  married.  Tiring 
of  the  sea  in  time,  he  had  found  work  on  the 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  267 

jetties  and  rented  this  room,  for  sixpence  a 
week.  In  these  days  he  and  Naomi  rarely 
spoke  to  each  other  beyond  exchanging  a  "  Good- 
morning  "  when  they  met  on  the  stairway,  nor 
did  he  show  any  friendliness  beyond  tapping  at 
her  mother's  door  and  inquiring  about  her  once 
a  day  whenever  she  happened  to  be  down  with 
the  fever.  I  have  made  researches  and  find 
that  the  rest  of  the  house  was  tenanted  at  that 
time  by  a  working  block-maker,  with  his  wife 
and  .four  children;  a  widow  and  her  son  just 
returned  from  sea  with  an  injured  spine;  a 
young  couple  without  children.  But  these  do 
not  come  into  the  tale. 

Now  the  history  of  Naomi  was  this.  She 
was  married  at  three-and-twenty  to  Abe  Brick- 
nell,  a  young  sailor  of  the  port,  and  as  steady  as 
a  woman  could  wish.  In  the  third  year  of  their 
married  life,  and  a  week  after  obtaining  his 
certificate,  he  sailed  out  of  Troy  as  mate  of  a 
fruit-ship,  a  barque,  that  never  came  back,  nor 
was  sighted  again  after  passing  the  Lizard  lights. 

Naomi — a  tall  up-standing  woman  with  deep, 
gentle  eyes,  like  a  cow's,  and  a  firm  mouth  that 
seldom  spoke — took  her  affliction  oddly.  She 
neither  wailed  nor  put    on    mourning.      She 


258  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHY. 

looked  upon  it  as  a  matter  between  herself 
and  her  Maker,  and  said : 

"  God  has  done  this  thing  to  me ;  therefore 
I  have  finished  with  Him.  I  am  no  man  to 
go  and  revenge  myself  by  breaking  all  the 
Commandments.  But  I  am  a  woman  and  can 
suffer.     Let  Him  do  His  worst :  I  defy  Him." 

So  she  never  set  foot  inside  church  again, 
nor  offered  any  worship.  The  week  long  she 
worked  as  a  laundress,  and  sat  through  the 
Sundays  with  her  arms  folded,  gloomily  fight- 
ing her  duel.  When  the  fever  wrenched  her 
arms  and  lips  as  she  stood  by  the  wash-tub,  she 
set  her  teeth  and  said,  "  I  can  stand  it.  I  can 
match  all  this  with  contempt.  He  can  kill,  but 
that's  not  beating  me." 

Her  mother,  a  large  and  pale-faced  woman 
of  sixty,  with  an  apparently  thoughtful  con- 
traction of  the  lips,  in  reality  due  to  a  habit 
of  carrying  pins  in  her  mouth,  watched  [N'aomi 
anxiously  during  this  period  of  her  life.  And 
Long  Oliver  watched  her  too,  though  secretly, 
with  eyes  screwed  up  after  the  fashion  of  men 
who  have  followed  the  sea. 

One  day  he  stopped  her  on  the  stairs  and 
asked,  abruptly : 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  259 

"  When  be  you  thinkin'  to  marry  again  ? " 

"  I^ever,"  she  answered,  straight  and  at  once, 
halting  with  a  hand  on  her  hip  and  eyeing 
him. 

"  Dear  me  ;  but  you  will,  I  hope." 

"  Not  to  you,  anyway." 

"  Laws  me,  no !  I  don't  want  'ee ;  haven't 
wanted  'ee  these  ten  years.  But  I'd  a  reason 
for  askin'." 

"  Then  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  it  can  be." 

"True  —  true.  Look  'ee  here,  my  dear;  'tis 
ordained  for  you  to  marry  agen." 

"Aw?    Who  by?" 

"  Providence." 

N^aomi  had  treated  Long  Oliver  badly  in  days 
gone  by,  but  could  still  talk  to  him  with  more 
freedom  than  to  other  men.  Still  standing  with 
a  hand  on  her  hip,  she  let  f  aU  a  horrible  sen- 
tence about  the  Almighty  —  all  the  more  hor- 
rible in  that  it  came  deliberately,  without 
emphasis,  and  from  quiet  lips. 

"  Woman ! "  cried  a  voice  above  them. 

They  turned,  looked  up,  and  saw  the  bent 
figure  of  a  man  framed  in  the  street  doorway. 
This  was  William  Geake,  who  walked  in  from 
Gantick  every  Saturday  to  collect  the  sixpences 


260  THE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

and  shillings  of  Yellan's  Kents  for  its  landlord, 
a  well-to-do  wine  and  spirit  merchant  at  Tre- 
garrick.  As  a  man  of  indisputable  probity  and 
an  unwearying  walker,  Geake  was  entrusted 
with  many  odd  jobs  of  this  kind  in  the  country 
round,  filling  in  with  them  such  idle  corners  as 
his  trade  of  carpenter  and  undertaker  to  Gan- 
tick  village  might  leave  in  the  six  working  days. 
On  Sundays  he  put  on  a  long  black  coat,  and 
became  a  Rounder,  or  Methodist  local-preacher, 
walking  sometimes  twenty  miles  there  and  back 
to  terrify  the  inhabitants  of  outlying  hamlets 
about  their  future  state. 

"  "Woman ! "  cried  William  Geake,  "  Down 
'pon  your  knees  an'  pray  God  the  roof  don't 
fall  on  'ee  for  your  vile  words." 

"  I  reckon,"  retorted  Naomi  quietly,  with  a 
glance  up  at  the  worm-riddled  rafters,  "you'd 
do  more  good  by  speakin'  to  the  landlord." 

William  Geake  had  a  high  brow  and  bright, 
nervous  eyes,  betokening  enthusiasm;  but  he 
had  also  a  long  and  square  jaw  that  meant 
stubbornness.  This  jaw  now  began  to  protrude 
and  his  lips  to  straighten. 

"  Down  'pon  your  knees  !  "  he  repeated. 

Kaomi  turned  her  eyes  from  him  to  Long 


LOVJE  OF  NAOMI.  261 

Oliver,  who  leant  against  the  staircase  wall  with 
his  arms  crossed  and  a  veiled  amusement  in  his 
face.  With  a  slightly  heightened  colour,  but 
no  flutter  of  the  voice,  she  repeated  her 
blasphemy ;  and  then,  pulling  a  shilling  from 
her  worn  purse,  tendered  it  to  Geake.  This,  of 
course,  meant  "  Mind  your  own  business "  ;  but 
he  waved  her  hand  aside. 

"  Down  'pon  your  knees,  woman ! "  he 
shouted  thunderously.  Then,  as  she  showed 
no  disposition  to  obey,  he  added,  grimly,  "  Eh  ? 
but  somebody  shall  intercede  for  thee  afore 
thou'rt  a  minute  older." 

And  pulling  off  his  hat  there  and  then,  he 
knelt  down  on  the  doorstep,  with  the  soles  of 
his  hob-nailed  boots  showing  to  the  street. 

"Get  up,  an'  don't  make  yoursel'  a  may- 
game,"  said  Naomi  hurriedly,  as  one  or  two 
children  stopped  their  play,  and  drew  around 
to  stare. 

"Father  in  heaven,"  began  William  Geake, 
in  a  voice  that  fetched  the  women-folk,  all  up 
and  down  the  Chy-pons,  to  their  doors,  "  Thou, 
whose  property  is  ever  to  have  mercy,  forgive 
this  blaspheming  woman !  Suffer  one  who  is 
Thy  servant,  though  a  grievous  sinner,  to  inter- 


262  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

cede  for  her  afore  she  commits  the  sin  that  can- 
not be  forgiven  ;  to  pluck  her  as  a  brand  from 
the  burning  —  " 

By  this,  the  women  and  a  loafing  man  or 
two  had  clustered  round,  and  CoUiver's  coal- 
cart  had  rattled  up  and  come  to  a  standstill. 
The  Chy-pons  is  the  narrowest  street  in  Troy, 
and  CoUiver's  driver  could  hardly  pass  now, 
except  over  "William  Geake's  legs. 

"  Draw  in  your  feet,  brother  Geake,"  he 
called  out,  "or  else  pray  short." 

One  or  two  women  giggled  at  this.  But 
Geake  did  not  seem  to  hear.  For  five  good 
minutes  he  prayed  vociferously,  as  was  his 
custom  in  meeting-house ;  then  rose,  replaced 
his  hat,  dusted  his  knees,  held  out  his  hand 
for  Naomi's  shilling,  and  wrote  her  the  cus- 
tomary voucher  in  his  most  business-like  man- 
ner, and  without  another  word.  But  there 
was  a  triumphant  look  in  his  eyes  that  dared 
Naomi  to  repeat  her  offence,  and  she  very 
nearly  wept  as  she  felt  that  the  words  would 
not  come.  This  and  the  shame  of  publicity 
drove  her  back  into  her  room  as  Geake  passed 
down  the  stairs  to  collect  the  other  rents.  A 
few  women  still  hung  about  the  doorway  as  he 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  263 

emerged,  some  twenty  minutes  later.  But  he 
marched  down  Chy-pons  with  head  erect  and 
eyes  fixed  straight  ahead. 

n. 

On  the  following  Saturday,  when  Geake 
called,  Naomi  was  standing  at  her  wash-tub. 
She  had  seen  him  pass  the  window,  and,  hur- 
riedly wiping  her  hands,  and  pulling  out  her 
shilling,  placed  it  ostentatiously  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  deal  table  by  the  door;  then 
had  just  time  to  plunge  her  hands  in  the 
soap-suds  again  before  he  knocked.  Try  as 
she  would,  she  could  not  keep  back  a  blush 
at  the  remembrance  of  last  week's  scene,  and 
half  looked  for  him  to  make  some  allusion 
to  it. 

His  extremely  business-like  air  reassured  her. 
She  nodded  towards  the  shilling  without  re- 
moving her  hands  from  the  tub.  He  took  it, 
including  in  a  polite  good-morning  both  Naomi 
and  her  mother,  who  was  huddled  in  an  arm- 
chair before  the  fire  and  recovering  from  an 
attack  of  the  fever,  wrote  out  his  voucher 
solemnly,  set  it  in  the  exact  spot  where  the 


264  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

shilling  had  stood,  took  up  his  hat,  hesitated 
for  less  than  a  second,  replaced  his  hat  on  the 
table,  and,  pulling  a  chair  towards  him,  dropped 
on  his  knees,  and  began  to  pray  aloud. 

The  old  woman  by  the  fire  slewed  her  head 
painfully  round  and  stared  at  him,  then  at 
Naomi.  But  Naomi  was  standing  with  her 
back  to  them  both,  and  her  hands  soaping  the 
linen  in  the  tub  —  gently,  however,  and  without 
any  splashing.  She  therefore  let  her  head  sink 
back  on  the  cushion,  and  assumed  that  peculiarly 
dejected  air,  commonly  reserved  by  her  for  the 
consolations  of  religion. 

On  this  occasion  William  Geake  prayed  in  a 
low  and  level  tone,  and  very  briefly.  He  made 
no  allusion  to  last  Saturday,  but  put  up  an 
earnest  petition  for  blessings  upon  "  our  two 
sisters  here,"  and  that  they  might  learn  to 
accept  their  appointed  portion  with  resignation, 
yea,  even  with  a  holy  joy.  At  the  end  of  two 
minutes  he  rose,  and  was  about  to  dust  his 
knees,  after  his  usual  custom,  but,  becoming 
suddenly  aware  of  the  difference  in  cleanliness 
between  Naomi's  lime-ash  and  the  floors  of  the 
various  meeting-houses  of  his  acquaintance, 
refrained     This  little  piece  of  delicacy  did  not 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  265 

escape  Naomi,  though  her  shoulders  were  still 
bent  over  the  tub,  to  all  seeming  as  resolutely 
as  ever. 

"Well,  I  swow  that  was  very  friendly  of 
Mister  Geake  !  "  the  old  woman  ejaculated,  as 
the  door  closed  behind  him.  "  'Tisn't  every- 
body 'd  ha'  thought  what  a  comfort  a  little 
scrap  o'  religion  can  be  to  an  old  woman  in  my 
state." 

"  He  took  a  great  liberty,"  said  ISTaomi 
snappishly. 

"Well,  he  might  ha'  said  as  much  as  'By 
your  leave,'  to  be  sure;  an'  now  you  say  so, 
'twas  makin'  a  bit  free  to  talk  about  our  de- 
pendence —  an'  in  my  own  kitchen  too." 

"  He  meant  our  dependence  on  th'  Almighty," 
Naomi  corrected,  still  more  snappishly.  "  Will- 
iam Geake's  an  odd-fangled  man,  but  you 
might  give  'en  credit  for  good-feelin'.  An', 
what's  more,  though  T  don't  hold  wi'  Christian 
talk,  if  a  man  have  a  got  beliefs,  I  respect  'en 
for  standin'  to  'em  without  shame." 

"But  I  thought,  a  moment  ago  — "  her 
mother  began,  and  then  subsided.  She  was 
accustomed  to  small  tangles  in  her  own  pro- 
cesses of  thought,  and  quite  incapable,  after 


266  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

years  of  blind  acceptance,  of  correcting  Naomi's 
logic. 

No  more  was  said  on  the  matter.  The  next 
Saturday,  after  receiving  his  shilling,  Mr.  Geake 
knelt  down  without  any  hesitation.  It  was 
clear  he  wished  this  prayer  to  be  a  weekly 
institution,  and  an  institution  it  became. 

The  women  never  knelt.  Naomi,  indeed, 
had  never  sanctioned  the  innovation,  unless 
by  her  silence,  and  her  mother  assisted  only 
with  a  very  lugubrious  "  Amen,"  being  too 
weak  to  stir  from  her  chair.  As  the  months 
passed,  it  became  evident  to  Geake  that  her 
strength  would  never  come  back.  The  fever 
had  left  her,  apparently  for  good;  but  the 
rheumatism  remained,  and  closed  slowly  upon 
the  heart.     The  machine  was  worn  out. 

"When  the  end  came,  Naomi  had  been  doing 
the  work  single-handed  for  close  upon  twelve 
months.  She  could  always  get  a  plenty  of 
work,  and  now  took  in  a  deal  too  much  for 
her  strength,  to  settle  the  doctor's  and  under- 
taker's bills,  and  buy  herself  a  black  gown, 
cape,  and  bonnet.  The  funeral,  of  course,  took 
place  on  a  Sunday.  Geake,  on  the  Saturday 
afternoon,  knocked  gently  at  Naomi's   door. 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  267 

His  single  intent  was  to  speak  a  word  or  two 
of  sympathy,  if  she  would  listen.  Remember- 
ing her  constant  attitude  under  the  Divine 
scourge,  he  felt  a  trifle  nervous. 

But  there  lay  the  shilling  in  the  centre  of 
the  table,  and  there  stood  Naomi  in  a  cloud  of 
steam,  hard  at  work  on  an  immoderate  pile 
of  washing  —  even  a  man's  miscalculating  eye 
could  see  that  it  was  immoderate. 

"  I  didn't  call  —  "  he  began,  with  a  glance 
towards  the  shilling. 

"  No ;  I  know  you  didn't.  But  you  may  so 
well  take  it  all  the  same." 

Geake  had  rehearsed  a  small  speech,  but 
found  himself  making  out  and  signing  the 
voucher  as  usual;  and,  as  usual,  when  it  was 
signed,  he  drew  over  a  chair,  and  dropped  on 
his  knees.  In  prayer-meeting  he  was  a  great 
hand  at  "improving"  an  occasion  of  bereave- 
ment ;  but  here  again  his  will  to  speak  im- 
pressively suddenly  failed  him.  His  words 
were : 

"  Lord,  there  were  two  women  grinding  at  a 
mill ;  the  one  was  taken,  and  t'other  left.  She 
that  you  took,  you've  a-carr'd  beyond  our 
prayers ;  but  O,  be  gentle,  be  gentle,  to  her 
that's  left!" 


268  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

He  arose,  and  looked  shyly,  almost  shame- 
facedly, at  Naomi.  She  had  not  turned.  But 
her  head  was  bowed;  and,  drawing  near,  he 
saw  that  the  scalding  tears  were  falling  fast 
into  the  wash-tub.  She  had  not  wept  when 
her  husband  was  lost,  nor  since. 

"Go  away!"  she  commanded,  before  he 
could  speak,  turning  her  shoulders  resolutely 
towards  him. 

He  took  up  his  hat,  and  went  out  softly, 
closing  the  door  softly  behind  him. 

His  eye,  which  was  growing  quick  to  read 
Naomi's  face,  saw  at  once,  as  he  entered  the 
room  a  week  later,  that  she  deprecated  even 
the  slightest  reference  to  her  weakness.  It 
also  told  him  —  he  had  not  guessed  it  before  — 
that  her  emotional  breakdown  had  probably 
more  to  do  with  physical  exhaustion  than  with 
any  eloquence  of  his.  The  pile  of  washing 
had  grown,  and  the  woman's  face  was  grey 
with  fatigue. 

Geake,  as  he  made  out  the  voucher,  cast 
about  for  a  polite  mode  of  hinting  that  this 
kind  of  thing  must  not  go  on.  Nevertheless 
it  was  Naomi  who  began. 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  269 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  as  he  put  down  the 
voucher;  "there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  more 
prayin',  eh  ? " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  there  is,"  he  answered  with 
a  show  of  great  cheerfulness ;  and  reached  for 
a  chair. 

"I'd  liefer  you  didn't.  I  don't  want  it.  I 
don't  hold  by  any  o't.  You'm  very  kind," 
she  went  on,  her  voice  trembling  for  an  in- 
stant and  then  recovering  its  firmness,  "and 
I  reckon  it  soothed  mother.  But  I  reckon 
it  don't  soothe  me.  I  reckon  it  rubs  me  the 
wrong  way.  There's  times,  when  I  hears  a 
body  prayin',  that  I  wishes  we  was  Papists 
again  and  worshipped  images,  that  I  might 
throw  stones  at  'em ! " 

She  paused,  looked  up  into  Geake's  devour- 
ing eyes,  and  added,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  a 
laugh: 

"  So  you  see,  I'm  wicked,  an'  don't  want  to 
be  saved." 

Then  the  man  broke  forth : 

"  Saved  ?  No,  I  reckon  you  don't !  "Wicked  ? 
Iss,  I  reckon  you  be!  But  saved  you  shall 
be — ay,  if  you  was  twice  so  wicked.  Who'll 
do  it?     I'll  do  it  —  I  alone.      I   don't  want 


270  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

your  help.  I  want  to  do  it  in  spite  of  'ee: 
an'  I'll  lay  that  I  do!  Be  your  wickedness 
deep  as  hell,  an'  I'll  reach  down  a  hand  to 
the  roots  and  pluck  it  up :  be  your  salvation 
stubborn  as  Death,  I'll  wrestle  wi'  the  Lord 
for  it.  If  I  sell  my  own  soul  for't,  yours  shall 
be  redeemed ! " 

He  slammed  down  his  fist  on  the  rickety 
deal  table,  which  promptly  collapsed  flat  on 
the  floor,  with  its  four  legs  splayed  under  the 
circular  cover. 

"Bein'  a  carpenter — "  Geake  began  to 
stammer  apologetically,  and  in  a  totally  differ- 
ent tone. 

For  a  second  —  two  seconds  —  the  issue  hung 
between  tears  and  laughter.  An  hysterical 
merriment  twinkled  in  Naomi's  eyes. 

But  the  strength  of  Geake's  passion  saved 
the  situation.  He  stepped  up  to  Naomi,  laid 
a  hand  on  each  shoulder;  and  shook  her  gently 
to  and  fro. 

"Listen  to  me!  As  I  hold  'ee  now,  so  I 
take  your  fate  in  my  hands.  Naomi  Bricknell, 
you've  got  to  be  my  wife,  so  make  up  your 
mind  to  that." 

She  cowered   a  little  under  his  grasp;  put 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  271 

out  a  hand  to  push  him  off ;  drew  it  back ;  and 
broke  into  helpless  sobbing.  But  this  time  she 
did  not  command  him  to  go  away. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  William  Geake  left 
YeUan's  Rents  with  joy  on  his  face  and  a 
broken  table  under  his  arm. 

And  two  days  later  Naomi's  face  wore  a 
look  of  demure  happiness  when  Long  Oliver 
stopped  her  on  the  staircase  and  asked, 

"  Is  it  true,  what  I  hear  ? " 

"  It  is  true,"  she  answered. 

"  An'  when  be  the  banns  called  ? " 

"  There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  banns." 

"Hey?" 

"  There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  banns ;  leastways, 
there  ain't  goin'  to  be  none  called.  "We'm 
goin'  to  the  Registry  Office.  You  look  all 
struck  of  a  heap.  "Was  you  hopin'  to  be  best 
man?" 

"Well,  I  reckoned  I'd  take  a  hand  in  the 
responses,"  he  answered ;  and  seemed  about  to 
say  more,  but  turned  on  his  heel  and  went 
back  to  his  room,  shutting  the  door  behind 
him. 


272  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 


III. 


We  pass  to  a  Saturday  morning,  two  years 
later,  and  to  William  Geake's  cottage  at  the 
western  end  of  Gantick  village. 

Naomi  had  plucked  three  fowls  and  trussed 
them,  and  wrapping  each  in  a  white  napkin, 
had  packed  them  in  her  basket  with  a  dozen 
and  a  half  of  eggs,  a  few  pats  of  butter,  and 
a  nosegay  or  two  of  garden-flowers  —  Sweet 
Williams,  marigolds,  and  heart's-ease :  for  it 
was  market-day  at  Tregarrick.  Then  she  put 
on  boots  and  shawl,  tied  her  bonnet,  and  slung 
a  second  pair  of  boots  across  her  arm :  for  the 
roads  were  heavy  and  she  would  leave  the 
muddy  pair  with  a  friend  who  lived  at  the 
entrance  of  the  town,  not  choosing  to  appear 
untidy  as  she  walked  up  the  Fore  Street, 
These  arrangements  made,  she  went  to  seek 
her  husband,  who  was  busy  planing  a  coffin- 
lid  in  the  workshop  behind  the  cottage,  and 
ruminating  upon  to-morrow's  sermon. 

"  You'll  be  about  startin',"  he  said,  lifting  his 
head  and  pushing  his  spectacles  up  over  his 
eye-brows. 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  273 

Naomi  set  her  basket  down  on  his  work- 
table,  and  drew  her  breath  back  between  her 
teeth — which  is  the  Cornish  mode  of  saying 
"Yes."  "I  want  you  to  make  me  a  couple  of 
skivers,"  she  said.  "Aun'  Hambly  sent  over 
word  she'd  a  brace  o'  chicken  for  me  to  seU, 
an'  I  was  to  call  for  'em :  an'  I'd  be  ashamed 
to  sell  a  fowl  the  way  she  skivers  it." 

William  set  down  his  plane,  picked  up  an 
odd  scrap  of  wood  and  cut  out  the  skewers 
with  his  pocket-knife;  while  Naomi  watched 
with  a  smile  on  her  face.  Whether  or  no 
William  had  recovered  her  soul,  as  he  promised, 
she  had  certainly  given  her  heart  into  his  keep- 
ing. The  love  of  such  a  widow,  he  found,  is 
as  the  surrender  of  a  maid,  with  wisdom  added. 

The  skewers  finished,  he  walked  out  through 
the  house  with  her  and  down  the  garden-path, 
carrying  the  basket  as  far  as  the  gate.  The 
scent  of  pine-shavings  came  with  him.  Half- 
way down  the  path  Naomi  turned  aside  and 
picking  a  sprig  of  Boy's  Love,  held  it  up  for 
him  to  smell.  The  action  was  trivial,  but  as 
he  took  the  sprig  they  both  laughed,  looking  in 
each  other's  eyes.  Then  they  kissed;  and  the 
staid   woman   went  her  way  down  the  road. 


274  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

while  the  staid  man  loitered  for  a  moment 
by  the  gate  and  watched  her  as  she  went. 

Now  as  he  took  his  eyes  away  and  glanced 
for  an  instant  in  the  other  direction,  he  was 
aware  of  a  man  who  had  just  come  round  the 
angle  of  the  garden  hedge  and,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  not  a  dozen  yards  off,  was 
also  staring  after  his  wife. 

This  stranger  was  a  broad-shouldered  fellow 
in  a  suit  of  blue  seaman's  cloth,  the  trousers  of 
which  were  tucked  inside  a  pair  of  Wellington 
boots.  His  complexion  was  brown  as  a  nut, 
and  he  wore  rings  in  his  ears :  but  the  features 
were  British  enough.  A  perplexed,  ingratiat- 
ing and  rather  silly  smile  overspread  them. 

The  two  men  regarded  each  other  for  a  bit, 
and  then  the  stranger  drew  nearer. 

"  I  do  believe  that  was  J^a'mi,"  he  said,  nod- 
ding his  head  after  the  woman's  figure,  that 
had  not  yet  passed  out  of  sight. 

William  Geake  opened  his  eyes  wide  and 
answered  curtly,  "Yes:  that's  my  wife  — 
Naomi  Geake.    What  then  ? " 

The  man  scratched  his  head,  contemplating 
William  as  he  might  some  illegible  sign-post 
set  up  at  an  unusually  bothersome  cross-road. 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  275 

"  She  keeps  very  han'some,  I  will  say."  His 
smile  grew  still  more  ingratiating. 

"  Was  you  wishin'  to  speak  wi'  her  ? " 

"  Well,  there !  I  was  an'  yet  I  wasn't.  'Tis 
terrible  puzzlin'.  You  don't  know  me,  I  des- 
say." 

«]^o,  I  don't." 

"I  be  called  Abe  Bricknell  —  A-bra-ham 
Bricknell.  I  used  to  be  Na'mi's  husband,  one 
time.  There  now  "  —  with  an  accent  of  genu- 
ine contrition  —  "I  felt  sure  'twould  put  you 
out." 

The  tongue  grew  dry  in  William  Geake's 
mouth,  and  the  sunlight  died  off  the  road 
before  him.  He  stared  at  a  blister  in  the  green 
paint  of  the  garden-gate  and  began  to  peel  it 
away  slowly  with  his  thumb-nail :  then,  pulling 
out  his  handkerchief,  picked  away  at  the  paint 
that  had  lodged  under  the  nail,  very  carefully, 
while  he  fought  for  speech. 

"  I  be  altered  a  brave  bit,"  said  Naomi's  first 
husband,  still  with  his  silly  smile. 

"  Come  into  th'  house,"  William  managed  to 
say  at  last ;  and  turning,  led  the  way  to  the 
door.  On  his  way  he  caught  himself  wonder- 
ing why  the  hum  of  the  bees  had  never  sounded 


276  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

SO  loudly  in  the  garden  before:  and  this  was 
all  he  could  think  about  till  he  reached  the 
doorstep.     Then  he  turned. 

"Th'  Lord's  ways  be  past  findin'  out,"  he 
said,  passing  a  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"  That's  so :  that's  what  /  say  mysel',"  the 
other  assented  cheerfully,  as  if  glad  to  find 
their  wits  jumping  together. 

"Man!"  William  rounded  on  him  fiercely. 
"What's  kept  'ee,  all  these  years?  Aw,  man, 
man !  do  'ee  know  what  you've  done  ? " 

"  I'd  a  sun-stroke,"  said  the  wanderer,  tap- 
ping his  head  and  stUl  wearing  his  deprecatory 
smUe ;  "  a  very  bad  sun-stroke.  I  sailed  in  the 
John  S.  Hancock.  I  dessay  Na'mi  told  you 
about  that,  eh?" 

"  Get  on  wi'  your  tale." 

"Pete  Hancock  was  cap'n.  The  vessel  was 
called  after  his  uncle,  you  know,  an'  the  Han- 
cocks had  a-bought  up  most  o'  the  shares  in 
her.  That's  how  Pete  came  to  be  cap'n.  We 
sailed  on  a  Friday  —  unlucky,  I've  heard  that 
is.  But  Pete  said  them  that  laid  th'  Atlantic 
cable  had  started  that  day  an'  broke  the  spell. 
Pete  had  a  lot  o'  tales,  but  he  made  a  poor 
cap'n ;  no  head." 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  277 

"  Look  here/'  put  in  William  with  desperate 
calm,  "  I  don't  want  to  know  about  Peter  Han- 
cock." 

"  There's  not  much  to  know  if  you  did.  He 
made  a  very  poor  cap'n,  though  it  don't  become 
one  to  say  so,  now  he's  gone.  An  affectionate 
man,  tljough,  for  all  his  short-comin's.  The 
last  time  he  brought  his  vessel  home  from  New 
Orleans  he  was  in  that  pore  to  get  back  to  his 
wife  an'  childer,  he  ripped  along  the  Gulf 
Stream  and  pretty  weU  ribbed  the  keelson  out 
of  her.  Thought,  I  reckon,  that  since  all  the 
shareholders  belonged  to  his  family  th'  expense 
wouldn'  be  grudged.  But  I  guess  it  made  her 
tender.  That's  how  she  came  to  go  down  so 
suddent." 

"She  foundered?" 

"I'm  comin'  to  that.  We'd  just  run  our 
nose  into  the  tropics  an'  was  headin'  down  for 
Kingston  Harbour  —  slippin'  along  at  five  knots 
easy  an'  steady,  an'  not  a  sign  of  trouble.  The 
time,  so  far  as  I  can  tell,  was  somewhere  near 
five  beUs  in  the  middle  watch.  I'd  turned  in, 
leavin'  Pete  on  deck,  an'  was  fast  asleep ;  when 
all  of  a  suddent  a  great  jolt  sent  me  flyin'  out 
o'  the  berth.     As  soon  as  I  got  my  legs  an' 


278  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

wits  again  I  was  up  on  deck,  and  already  the 
barque  was  settlin'  by  the  head  like  a  burst 
crock.  She'd  crushed  her  breastbone  in  on  a 
sunken  tramp  of  a  derelict  —  a  dismasted  water- 
logged lump,  that  maybe  had  been  washin' 
about  the  Atlantic  for  twenty  year'  an'  more 
before  her  app'inted  time  came  to  drift  across 
our  fair- way  an'  settle  the  hash  o'  the  John  S. 
Hancock.  Sir,  I  reckon  she  went  down  inside 
o'  five  minutes.  We'd  but  bare  time  to  get  out 
one  boat  and  push  clear  o'  the  whirl  of  her. 
All  hands  jumped  in;  she  was  but  a  sixteen 
foot  boat,  an'  we  loaded  her  down  to  the  gun'l 
a'most.  There  was  a  brave  star-shine,  but  no 
moon.     Cruel  things  happen  'pon  the  sea." 

He  passed  a  hand  over  his  eyes,  as  if  to 
brush  off  the  film  his  sufferings  had  drawn 
across  them.     Then  he  pursued : 

"Cruel  things  happen  'pon  the  sea.  "We'd 
no  food  nor  drink  but  a  tin  o'  preserved  pears ; 
Lord  knows  how  that  got  there ;  but  'twas  soon 
done.  Pete  had  a  small  compass,  a  gimcrack 
affair  hangin'  to  his  watch-chain,  an'  we  pulled 
by  it  west-sou'-west  towards  the  nighest  land, 
which  we  made  out  must  be  some  one  or 
another  o'   the   Leeward    Islands;    but  'twas 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  279 

more  to  keep  ourselves  busy  than  for  aught 
else :  the  boat  was  so  low  in  the  water  that 
even  with  the  Trade  to  help  us,  we  made  but 
a  mile  an  hour,  an'  had  to  be  balin'  all  day 
and  all  night.  The  third  day,  as  the  sun  grew 
hot,  two  o'  the  men  went  mad.  We  had  to 
pitch  'em  overboard  an'  beat  'em  off  wi'  the 
oars  till  they  drowned :  else  they'd  ha'  sunk 
the  boat.  This  seemed  to  hang  on  Pete's 
mind,  in  a  way.  All  the  next  night  he  talked 
light-headed ;  said  he  could  hear  the  dead  men 
hailin'  their  names.  About  midnight  he  jumped 
after  'em  —  to  fetch  'em,  he  said  —  an'  was 
drowned.  He  took  his  compass  with  him,  but 
that  didn't  make  much  odds.  The  boat  was 
lighter  now,  an'  we  hadn'  to  bale.  Pretty 
soon  I  got  too  weak  to  notice  how  the  men 
went.  I  was  lyin'  wi'  my  head  under  the 
stern  sheets  an'  only  pulled  mysel'  up,  now  an' 
then,  to  peer  out  over  the  gun'l.  I  s'pose  'twas 
the  splashes  as  the  men  went  over  that  made 
me  do  this.  I  don't  know  for  certain.  There 
was  sharks  about :  cruel  things  happen  'pon  the 
sea.  The  boat  was  in  a  gashly  cauch  of  blood 
too.  One  chap  —  Jeff  Tresawna  it  was:  his 
mother  lived  over  to  Looe  —  had  tried  to  open 


280  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

a  vein,  to  drink,  an'  had  made  a  mess  o't  an' 
bled  to  death.  Far  as  I  know  there  was  no 
fightin'  to  eat  one  another,  same  as  one  hears 
tell  of  now  an'  then.  The  men  just  went  mad 
and  jumped  like  sheep :  'twas  a  reg'lar  disease. 
Two  would  go  quick,  one  atop  of  t'other ;  an' 
then  there'd  be  a  long  stillness,  an'  then  a 
yellin'  again  an'  two  more  splashes,  maybe 
three.  All  through  it  I  was  dozin',  off  an'  on ; 
an'  I  reckon  these  things  got  mixed  up  an' 
repeated  in  my  head :  for  our  crew  was  only 
sixteen  all  told,  an'  it  seemed  to  me  I'd  heard 
scores  go  over.  Anyway  I  opened  my  eyes 
at  last  —  night  it  was,  an'  all  the  stars  blazin' 
—  an'  the  boat  was  empty  all  except  me  an' 
Jeff  Tresawna,  him  that  had  bled  to  death.  He 
was  lying  up  high  in  the  bows,  wi'  his  legs 
stretched  out  towards  me  along  the  bottom- 
boards.  There  was  a  twinlde  o'  dew  'pon  the 
thwarts  an'  gun'l,  an'  I  managed  to  suck  my 
shirt-sleeve,  that  was  wringin'  wet,  an'  dropped 
off  dozin'  again  belike.  The  nex'  thing  I 
minded  was  a  sort  o'  dream  that  I  was  home 
to  Carne  again,  over  Pendower  beach  —  that's 
where  my  father  an'  mother  lived.  I  heard 
the  breakers  quite  plain.     The  sound  of  'em 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  281 

woke  me  up.  This  was  a  little  after  daybreak. 
The  sound  kept  on  after  I'd  opened  my  eyes, 
though  not  so  loud.  I  took  another  suck  at 
my  shirt-sleeve  an'  pulled  myself  up  to  my 
knees  by  the  thwart  an'  looked  over.  'Twas 
the  sound  o'  broken  water,  sure  enough,  that 
I'd  been  hearing ;  an'  'twas  breakin'  round  half 
a  dozen  small  islands,  to  leeward,  between  me 
an'  the  horizon.  I  call  'em  islands;  but  they 
was  just  rocks  stickin'  up  from  the  sea,  and 
birds  on  'em  in  plenty ;  but  otherwise,  if  you'll 
excuse  the  liberty,  as  bare  as  the  top  o'  your 
head."  / 

Geake  nodded  gravely,  with  set  face. 

"I've  heard  since,"  went  on  the  seaman, 
"that  these  were  bits,  so  to  say,  belongin'  to 
the  Leeward  Islands,  about  eighty  miles  sou'- 
west  o'  St.  Kitt's.  Our  boat  must  ha'  driven 
past  St.  Kitt's,  but  just  out  o'  sight ;  or  perhaps 
we'd  passed  a  peep  of  it  in  the  night-time. 
Well,  as  you'll  be  guessin'  the  boat  was  pretty 
nigh  to  one  o'  these  islands,  or  I  shouldn'  ha' 
heard  the  wash.  Half  a  mile  off  it  was,  I 
dessay,  an'  a  pretty  big  wash.  This  was  caused 
by  the  current,  no  doubt,  for  the  wind  was  nex' 
to  nothin',  an'  no  swell  around  the  boat.    What's 


282  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

more,  the  current  was  takin'  us,  broadside  on, 
pretty  well  straight  for  the  rocks.  There  was 
no  rudder  an'  only  one  oar  left  i'  the  boat ;  an' 
that  was  broke  off  short  at  the  blade.  But  I 
managed  to  slip  it  over  the  starn  an'  made  shift 
to  keep  her  head  straight.  Her  nose  went  bump 
on  the  shore,  an'  then  she  swung  round  an'  went 
drivin'  past :  me  not  havin'  strength  left  to  put 
out  a  hand,  much  less  to  catch  hold  an'  stop  the 
way  on  us.  "We  might  ha'  driven  past  an'  off 
to  sea  again,  if  it  hadn'  been  for  a  spit  o'  rock 
that  reached  out  ahead.  This  brought  us  up 
short,  an'  there  we  lay  an'  bump'd  for  a  bit.  I 
dessay  it  took  me  half  an  hour  to  get  out  over 
the  side :  an'  all  the  time  I  kept  hold  o'  the 
broken  oar.  I  dunno  why  I  did  this :  but  it 
saved  my  life  afterwards.  Hav  'ee  got  such  a 
thing  as  a  drop  o'  cider  in  the  house  ? " 

"We  go  upon  temperance  principles  here," 
said  Geake.  He  rose  and  brought  a  jug  of 
water  and  a  glass. 

"  That'll  do,"  said  the  wanderer,  and  helped 
himself.  "  ISTa'mi  used  to  take  a  glass  o'  beer 
wi'  her  meals,  I  remember.  Well,  as  I  was 
agoin'  to  tell  you,  havin'  got  out  o'  the  boat,  I'd 
just  sense  enough  left  to  clamber  up  above  high- 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  283 

water  mark,  an'  there  I  sat  starin'  stupid-like 
an'  wonderin'  how  I'd  done  it.  Down  below, 
the  boat  was  heavin'  i'  the  wash  an'  joltin'  'pon 
the  rocks,  an'  I  watched  her  —  bump,  bump,  up 
an'  down,  up  an'  down  —  wi'  Jeff  jamm'd  by 
the  shoulders  i'  the  bows,  and  glazin'  up  at  me 
wi'  a  silly  blank  face,  like  as  if  he  couldn'  make 
it  all  out.  As  the  tide  rose  him  up  nearer,  1 
crawled  away  further  up.  Seemed  to  me  he  an' 
the  boat  was  after  me  like  a  sick  dream,  an'  I 
grinned  every  time  the  timbers  gave  an  extry 
loud  crack.  At  last  her  bottom  was  stove,  an' 
she  filled  very  quiet  an'  went  down.  The  wind 
was  fresher  by  this  an'  some  heavy  clouds 
comin'  up.  Then  it  rained.  I  don't  rightly 
know  if  this  was  the  same  day  or  no :  can't  fit 
in  the  days  an'  nights.  But  it  rained  heavy. 
There  was  a  quill-feather  lyin'  close  by  my 
hand  —  the  rock  was  strewed  wi'  feathers  an' 
the  birds'  droppin's  —  an'  with  it  I  tried  to  get 
at  the  rain-water  that  was  caught  in  the  cran- 
nies o'  the  rocks.  "While  I  was  searchin'  about 
I  came  across  an  egg.  It  was  stinkin',  but  I 
ate  it.  After  that,  feelin'  a  bit  stronger,  I'd  a 
mind  to  fix  up  the  oar  for  a  mark,  in  case  any 
vessel  passed  near  an'  me  asleep  or  too  weak  to 


284  TEE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

make  a  signal.  I  found  a  handy  chink  i'  the 
rock  to  plant  it  in,  an'  a  rovin'  pain  I  had  in  my 
stomach  while  I  was  fixin'  it.  That  was  the 
Qg^,  I  dessay.  An'  my  head  in  a  maze,  too : 
but  I'd  sense  enough  to  think  now  what  a  fool 
I  was  not  to  have  took  Jeff's  shirt  off'n,  to 
serve  me  for  a  flag.  Ilows'ever,  my  own  bein' 
wringin'  wet,  an'  the  sun  pretty  strong  just  then, 
I  slipped  it  off  an'  hitched  it  atop  o'  the  oar  to 
dry  an'  be  a  flag  at  the  same  time,  till  I  could 
rig  up  some  kind  o'  streamer,  out  o'  the  seaweed. 
An'  then  I  was  forced  to  vomit.  And  that's 
about  the  last  thing.  Mister  Geake,  I  can  mind 
doin'.  'Tis  all  foolishness  after  that.  They 
tell  me  that  a  'Merican  schooner,  the  Sliawanee^ 
sighted  my  shirt  flappin',  an'  sent  a  boat  an' 
took  me  off  an'  landed  me  at  ]S"ew  Orleens.  My 
head  was  bad  —  oh,  very  bad  —  an'  they  put 
me  in  a  'sylum  an'  cured  me.  But  they  took 
eight  year'  over  it,  an'  I  doubt  if  'tis  much  of  a 
job  after  all.  I  wasn'  bad  all  the  time,  I  must 
tell  you,  sir;  but  'tis  only  lately  my  mem'ry 
would  work  any  further  back  'n  the  wreck  o' 
the  barque.  Everything  seemed  to  begin  an' 
end  wi'  that.  'Tis  about  a  year  back  that  some 
visitors  came  to  the  'sylum.     There  was  a  lady 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  286 

in  the  party,  an'  something  in  her  face,  when 
she  spoke  to  me,  put  me  in  mind  o'  ]^a'mi,  an' 
I  remembered  I  was  a  married  man.  Inside  of 
a  fortnight,  part  by  thinkin'  —  'tis  hard  work 
still  for  me  to  think  —  part  by  dreamin',  I'd 
a-worried  it  all  out.  I  was  betterin'  fast  by 
that.  Soon  as  I  was  well  enough  to  be  dis- 
charged, I  worked  my  passage  home  in  a  grain 
ship,  the  Druid,  o'  Liverpool.  I  was  reckonin' 
all  the  way  back  that  Na'mi  'd  be  main  glad 
to  see  me  agen.     But  now  I  s'pose  she  won't." 

"  It'll  come  nigh  to  killin'  her." 

"  I  dessay,  now,  you  two  have  got  to  be  very 
fond  ?  She  used  to  be  a  partic'lar  lovin'  sort 
o'  woman." 

"  I  love  her  more  'n  heaven !  "  William  broke 
out;  and  then  cowered  as  if  he  half  expected 
to  be  struck  with  lightning  for  the  words. 

"  I  heard  of  her  havin'  married,  down  at  the 
Fifteen  Balls,  at  Troy.  I  dropped  in  there  to 
pick  up  the  news." 

"  What !  You've  been  teUin'  folks  who  you 
be!" 

"  Kot  a  word.  First  of  all  I  was  minded  to 
play  off  a  little  surprise  'pon  old  Toms,  the 
landlord,  who  didn'  know  me  from  Adam.     But 


286  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

hearin'  this,  just  as  I  was  a-leadin'  up  to  my 
little  joke,  I  thought  maybe  'twould  annoy 
JSTa'mi.  She  used  to  be  very  strict  in  some  of 
her  notions." 

William  Geake  took  two  hasty  turns  up  and 
down  the  little  parlour.  His  Bible,  in  which 
before  breakfast  he  had  been  searching  for  a 
text,  lay  open  on  the  side  table.  Behind  its 
place  on  the  shelf  was  a  small  skivet  he  had 
let  into  the  wall ;  and  in  that  drawer  was  stored 
something  over  twenty-five  pounds,  the  third  of 
his  savings.  Geake  kept  a  bank-account,  and 
the  balance  lay  at  interest  with  Messrs.  Climo 
and  Hodges,  of  St.  Austell.  But  he  had  the 
true  countryman's  aversion  to  putting  all  his 
eggs  in  one  basket ;  and  although  Messrs.  Climo 
and  Hodges  were  safe  as  the  Bank  of  England, 
preferred  to  keep  this  portion  of  his  wealth  in 
his  own  stocking.  He  closed  the  Bible  hastily ; 
rammed  it  back,  upside  down,  in  its  place  ;  then 
took  it  out  again,  and  stood  holding  it  in  his 
two  hands  and  trembling.  He  was  living  in 
sin:  he  was  minded  to  sin  yet  deeper.  And 
yet  what  had  he  done  to  deserve  Naomi  in 
comparison  with  the  unspeakable  tribulations 
this  simple  mariner  had  suffered?    Sure,  God 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  287 

must  have  preserved  the  fellow  with  especial 
care,  and  of  wise  purpose  brought  him  through 
shipwreck,  famine,  and  madness  home  to  his 
lawful  wife.  The  man  had  made  Naomi  a 
good  husband.  Had  "William  Geake  made  her 
a  better?  (Husband?)  —  here  he  dropped  the 
Bible  down  on  the  table  again  as  if  it  burned 
his  fingers.  Whatever  had  to  be  done  must  be 
done  quickly.  Here  was  the  innocent  wrecker 
of  so  much  happiness  hanging  on  his  lips  for 
the  next  word,  watching  wistfully  for  his  orders, 
like  any  spaniel  dog.  And  Naomi  would  be 
back  before  nightfall.  God  was  giving  him  no 
time :  it  was  unfair  to  hustle  a  man  in  this  way. 
In  the  whirl  of  his  thoughts  he  seemed  to  hear 
Naomi's  footfall  drawing  nearer  and  nearer 
home.  He  could  almost  upbraid  the  Almighty 
here  for  leaving  him  and  Naomi  childless.  A 
child  would  have  made  the  temptation  irresis- 
tible. 

"I  wish  a'most  that  I'd  never  called,  if  it 
puts  you  out  so  terrible,"  was  the  wanderer's 
plaintive  remark  after  two  minutes  of  silent 
waiting. 

This  sentence  settled  it.  The  temptation 
was  irresistible.     Geake  unlocked  the  skivet, 


288  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

plunged  a  hand  in  and  banged  down  a  fistful 
of  notes  on  the  table. 

"Here,"  said  he;  "here's  five-an'-twenty 
pound'.  You  shall  have  it  all  if  you'll  go 
straight  out  o'  this  door  an'  back  to  America." 


IV. 


Half-an-hour  later,  William  Geake  was 
standing  by  his  garden-gate  again.  Every  now 
and  then  he  glanced  down  the  road  towards 
St.  Austell,  and  after  each  glance  resumed  his 
nervous  picking  at  the  blister  of  green  paint 
that  had  troubled  him  earlier  in  the  day.  He 
was  face  to  face  with  a  new  and  smaller,  but 
sufficiently  vexing,  difficulty.  Abe  Bricknell 
had  gone,  taking  with  him  the  five  five-pound 
notes.  So  far  so  good,  and  cheap  at  the  price. 
But  the  skivet  was  empty :  and  the  day  was 
Saturday :  and  every  Saturday  evening,  as 
regularly  as  he  wound  up  the  big  eight-day 
clock  in  the  kitchen,  Naomi  and  he  would  sit 
down  and  count  over  the  money.  True  he  had 
only  to  go  to  St.  Austell  and  Messrs.  Climo  and 
Hodges  would  let  him  draw  five  new  notes. 
The  numbers  would  be  different,  and  Naomi 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  289 

(prudent  woman)  always  took  note  of  the  num- 
bers :  but  some  explanation  might  be  invented. 
The  problem  was :  How  to  get  to  St.  Austell 
and  back  before  ISTaomi's  return  ?  The  distance 
was  too  great  to  be  walked  in  the  time;  and 
besides,  the  coffin  must  be  ready  by  nightfall. 
He  had  promised  it ;  he  was  known  for  a  man 
of  his  word ;  and  owing  to  the  morning's  inter- 
ruption it  wo^ld  be  a  tough  job  to  finish,  at 
the  best.  There  was  no  help  for  it ;  and  —  so 
easy  is  the  descent  of  Avemus  —  Geake's  unac- 
customed wits  were  already  wandering  in  a 
wilderness  of  improbable  falsehoods,  when  he 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels  up  the  road,  and 
Long  Oliver  came  along  in  Farmer  Lear's  red- 
wheeled  trap  and  behind  Farmer  Lear's  dun- 
coloured  mare.  As  he  drew  near  at  a  trot  he 
eyed  Geake  curiously,  and  for  a  moment  seemed 
inclined  to  pull  up,  but  thought  better  of  it, 
and  was  passing  with  no  more  than  a  nod  of 
the  head  and  "  good-day." 

It  was  unusual,  though,  to  see  Long  Oliver 
driving  a  horse  and  trap;  and  Geake,  more- 
over, had  a  sudden  notion. 

" Good-mornin'j"  he  answered;  "whither 
bound  ? " 


290  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"  St.  Austell.  I've  a  bit  of  business  to  do, 
so  I'm  takin'  a  holiday ;  in  style,  as  you  see." 

"  I  wonder  now,"  Geake  suggested,  forgetting 
all  about  the  coflSn,  "if  you'd  give  me  a  lift. 
I  was  just  thinkin'  this  moment  that  I'd  a  bit 
o'  business  there  that  had  clean  slipped  my 
mind  this  week." 

This  was  transparently  false  to  any  one  ac- 
quainted with  Geake's  methodical  habits.  Long 
Oliver  screwed  up  his  eyes. 

"  Can't,  I'm  afraid.  I'm  engaged  to  take  up 
old  Missus  Oke  an'  her  niece  at  Tippet's  corner; 
an'  the  niece's  box.  The  gal's  goin'  in  to  St. 
Austell,  into  service.  So  there's  no  room. 
But  if  there's  any  little  message  I  can  take  — " 

"When'Uyoubeback?" 

"  Somewhere's  about  five  I'll  be  passin'." 

""Would  'ee  mind  waitin'  a  moment?  I've 
a  cheque  I  want  cashed  at  Climo  and  Hodges 
for  a  biggish  sum :  but  you'm  a  man  I  can  trust 
to  bring  back  the  money  safe." 

"  Sutt'nly,"  said  Long  Oliver. 

Geake  went  into  the  house  and  wrote  a  short 
letter  to  the  bankers.  He  asked  them  to  sen(i 
back  by  messenger,  and  in  return  for  cheque 
enclosed,  the  sum  of  twenty-five  pounds,  in  five 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  291 

new  five-pound  notes.  He  was  aware  (he  said) 
that  the  balance  of  his  running  account  was  but 
a  pound  or  two :  but  as  they  held  something 
over  fifty  pounds  of  his  on  deposit,  he  felt  sure 
they  would  oblige  him  and  enable  him  to  meet 
a  sudden  call. 

"Twenty-five  pounds  is  the  sum,"  he  ex- 
plained; "an'  you  must  be  sure  to  get  it  in 
five-pound  notes — new  jme-pound  notes.  You'll 
not  forget  that  ? "  He  closed  the  envelope  and 
handed  it  up  to  Long  Oliver,  who  buttoned  it 
in  his  breast-pocket. 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Mr.  Geake,  by  five  o'clock 
this  evenin',"  said  he,  giving  the  reins  a  shake 
on  the  mare's  back ;  so  'long !  "  and  he  rattled 
off. 

A  mile,  and  a  trifle  more,  beyond  Geake's 
cottage,  he  came  in  sight  of  a  man  clad  in  blue 
sailor's  cloth,  trudging  briskly  ahead.  Long 
Oliver's  lips  shaped  themselves  as  if  to  whistle  ; 
but  he  made  no  sound  until  he  overtook  the 
pedestrian,  when  he  pulled  up,  looked  round 
in  the  man's  face,  and  said  — 

"  Abe  Bricknell ! " 

The  sailor  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and  went 
very  white  in  the  face. 


292  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

"  How  do  you  know  my  name  ? "  he  asked, 
uneasily. 

"  'Kecognised  'ee  back  in  Troy,  an'  borrowed 
this  here  trap  to  drive  after  'ee.  Get  up  along- 
side.    I've  summat  to  say  to  'ee." 

Bricknell  climbed  up  without  a  word,  and 
they  drove  along  together. 

"  Where  was  you  goin'  ? "  Long  Oliver  asked, 
after  a  bit. 

"  To  Charlestown." 

"  To  look  for  a  ship  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Goin'  back  to  America  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  You've  been  callin'  on  William  Geake :  an' 
you  didn'  find  IS'aorai  at  home." 

"  Geake  don't  want  it  known." 

"  That's  likely  enough.  You've  got  twenty- 
five  pound'  o'  his  in  your  pocket." 

Abe  Bricknell  involuntarily  put  up  a  hand 
to  his  breast. 

"  Ay,  it's  there,"  said  Long  Oliver,  nodding. 
"  It's  odd  now,  but  I've  got  twenty-five  pound 
in  gold  in  my  pocket;  an'  I  want  you  to 
swop." 

"  I  don't  take  ye.  Mister — " 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  293 

"  Long  Oliver,  I'm  called  in  common.  Maybe 
you  remembers  me  ? " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure !  I  thought  I  minded 
your  face.  But  still  I  don't  take  your  meanin' 
azactly." 

*'I  didn'  suppose  you  would.  So  I'm  goin' 
to  tell  'ee.  Fourteen  year'  back  I  courted 
Kaomi,  an'  she  used  me  worse  'n  a  dog.  Twelve 
year'  back  she  married  you.  Nine  year'  back 
you  went  to  sea  in  the  Jbhi  S.  Hancock,  an'  was 
wrecked  ofp  the  Leeward  Isles  an'  cast  up  on 
a  spit  o'  rock.  I'd  been  hangin'  about  New 
Orleens,  just  then,  at  a  loose  end,  an'  bein'  in 
want  o'  cash,  took  a  scamper  in  the  Shawanee,  a 
dirty  tramp  of  a  schooner  knockin'  in  an'  out 
and  peddlin'  notions  among  the  West  Indy 
Islanders.  As  you  know  we  caught  sight  o' 
your  signal  an'  took  you  off,  an'  you  went  to  a 
mad-house.  You  was  clean  off  your  head  an' 
didn'  know  me  from  Adam ;  an'  I  never  let  on 
that  I  knew  you  or  the  ship  you'd  sailed  in. 
'Seemed  to  me  the  hand  o'  God  was  in  it,  an'  I 
saw  my  way  to  cry  quits  wi'  Naomi," 

"I  don't  see." 

"I  don't  suppose  you  do.  But  'twas  this 
way :  —  Naomi  (thinks  I)  '11  be  givin'  this  man 


294  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

up  afore  long.  She's  a  takeable  woman,  an' 
by-'n-bye,  some  new  man  '11  set  eyes  on  her. 
Then,  thinks  I,  her  banns  '11  be  called  in 
Church,  an'  I'U  be  there  an'  forbid  'em.  Do 
'ee  see  now  ? " 

"That  was  very  clever  o'  you,"  replied  the 
simple  seaman,  and  added  with  obvious  sincer- 
ity, "I'm  sure  I  should  never  ha'  thought  'pon 
anything  so  clever  as  that.  But  why  didn'  you 
carry  it  out  ? " 

"Because  God  Almighty  was  cleverer. 
Times  an'  times  I'd  pictured  it  up  in  my  head 
how  'twould  all  work  out ;  an'  the  parson  in  his 
surplice  stuck  all  of  a  heap ;  an'  the  heads 
turnin'  to  look;  an'  the  women  faintin'.  An' 
when  the  moment  came  for  a  man  to  claim  her, 
what  d'ye  think  she  did  ?  But  there,  a  head 
like  yom-s  'd  never  guess  —  why  she  went  to  a 
Registry  Office,  arU  there  werenH  no  hanns  at 
all.  That  overcame  me.  I  seed  the  wisdom  o' 
Providence  from  that  hour.  I  be  a  converted 
man.  An'  I'm  damned  if  I'll  let  you  come 
along  an'  upset  the  apple-cart  after  all  these 
years.    Can  'ee  write  ? " 

"  Tolerable,  though  I'm  no  hand  at  spellin'." 

"  Yery  well.    We'll  have  a  drink  together  at 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  295 

St.  Austell,  an'  while  we're  there  you  shall  do 
up  Geake's  notes  in  an  envelope  with  a  note 
sayin'  your  compliments,  but  on  second 
thoughts  you  couldn't  think  o'  takin'  his 
money." 

BrickneU's  face  fell  somewhat. 

"  You  gowk !  You'll  have  twenty-five  pound' 
o'  mine  in  exchange :  solid  money,  an'  my 
own  earnin's.  I've  more  'n  that  in  my  pocket 
here." 

"But  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  to 
give  me  money." 

"An'  you'm  too  mad  to  see  if  I  explained. 
'Tis  a  matter  o'  conscience,  an'  you  may  take  it 
at  that.  When  the  letter's  wrote  —  best  not 
sign  it,  by  the  way,  for  fear  of  accidents  —  you 
give  it  to  me  an'  I'll  see  Geake  gets  it  to-night. 
After  that's  written  I'll  pay  your  fare  to  Liver- 
pool, an'  then  you'll  get  a  vessel  easy.  Now  I 
see  your  mouth  openin'  and  makin'  ready  to 
argue  —  " 

"I  was  goin'  to  say,  Long  Oliver,  that  you 
seem  to  be  actin'  very  noble,  now :  but  'tAvas  a 
bit  hard  on  me,  your  holdin'  your  tongue  as  you 
did." 

"  So  'twas,  so  'twas.     I  reckon  some  folks 


296  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

is  by  nature  easy  forgotten,  an'  you'm  one.  If 
that's  your  character,  I  hope  to  gracious  you'm 
goin'  to  keep  it  up.  An'  twenty-five  pound' 
is  a  heap  o'  money  for  such  a  man  as  j^ou." 

"  It  is,"  the  wanderer  asserted.  "  Ay,  I  feel 
that." 

At  twenty  minutes  to  five  that  evening,  Long 
OHver  pulled  up  again  by  the  green  garden- 
gate.  "William  Geake  from  his  workshop  had 
caught  the  sound  of  the  mare's  hoofs  three 
minutes  before,  and  awaited  him. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five."  The  notes 
were  counted  out  deliberately.  Long  Oliver, 
having  been  thanked,  gathered  up  his  reins 
and  suddenly  set  them  down  again. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  hadn'  almost  for- 
got !    I've  a  letter  for  'ee,  too." 

«Eh?" 

"Iss.  A  kind  of  a  sailor-like  lookin'  chap 
came  up  to  me  i'  the  Half  Moon  yard  as  I  was 
a  takin'  out  the  mare.  'Do  you  come  from 
Gantick  ? '  says  he,  seein'  no  doubt  Farmer 
Lear's  name  'pon  the  cart.  '  There  or  there- 
abouts,' says  I.  '  Know  Mister  "W.  Geake  ? ' 
says    he.     'WeU,'  says  1.    'Then,  if   you're 


LOVE  OF  NAOMI.  297 

passin',  I  wish  you'd  give  'en  this  here  letter,' 
says  he,  an'  that's  all  'e  said." 

"  I  wonder  who  'twas,"  said  Greake.  But  his 
face  was  white. 

"  Don't  know  'en  by  sight.  Said  'e  was  in  a 
great  hurry  for  to  catch  the  up  train.  Which 
puts  me  i'  mind  I  must  be  movin'  on.  Grood- 
night  t'ye,  neighbour  !  " 

As  soon  as  he  had  turned  the  comer,  Geake 
opened  the  letter. 

When  Naomi  returned,  half-an-hour  later, 
she  found  him  standing  at  the  gate  as  if  he  had 
spent  the  day  there  :  as,  indeed,  he  might  have, 
for  all  the  work  done  to  the  coffin. 

"  I  must  bide  up  tonight  an'  finish  that  job," 
he  said,  when  they  were  indoors  and  she  began 
asking  how  in  the  world  he  had  been  spending 
his  time.     "  I've  been  worryin'  mysel'  all  day." 

"  It's  those  sermons  agen,"  Naomi  decided. 
"  They  do  your  head  no  good,  an'  I  wish  you'd 
give  up  preachin'." 

"  Now  that's  just  what  I'm  goin'  to  do,"  he 
answered,  pushing  the  Bible  far  into  the  shelf 
tiU  its  edges  knocked  on  the  wood  of  the  skivet- 
drawer. 


THE  PKINCE  OF  ABYSSINIA'S 
POST-BAG. 


I.  — AN  INTEKKUPTION. 

From  Algernon  Dexter^  writer  of  Vers  ds 
Societe,  London^  to  Rasselas,  Prince  of 
Abyssinia. 

My  Dear  Peince,  —  Our  correspondence  has 
dwindled  of  late.  Indeed,  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  heard  from  you  since  I  wrote  to 
acknowledge  your  kindness  in  standing  god- 
father to  my  boy  Jack  (now  rising  two),  and 
the  receipt  of  the  beautiful  scimitar  which,  as 
a  christening  present,  accompanied  your  con- 
sent. Still  I  do  not  forget  the  promise  you 
exacted  from  "  Q."  and  myself  after  lunch  at 
the  Mitre,  on  the  day  when  we  took  our  bach- 
elors' degrees  together  —  that  if  in  our  paths 
through  life  we  happened  upon  any  circum- 
stance- that  seemed  to  throw  fresh  light  on  the 
dark,  complex  workings  of  the  human  heart,  or 
at  least  likely  to  prove  of  interest  to  a  student 
of  his  fellow  men,  we  would  write  it  down  and 
despatch  it  to  you,  under  cover  of  The  Negus. 
301 


302  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

During  the  months  of  my  engagement  to 
Yiolet  these  communications  of  mine  (you 
will  allow)  were  frequent  enough  :  since  our 
marriage  they  have  grown  shamefully  fewer. 
Possibly  I  lose  alertness  while  I  put  on  flesh : 
it  is  the  natural  hebetudus  of  happiness.     "  Q." 

—  who  is  never  seen  now  upon  London  stones 

—  no  doubt  sends  you  a  plenty  of  what  passes 
for  news  in  that  parish  which  it  is  his  humour 
to  prefer  to  the  Imperial  City.  But,  believe 
me,  the  very  finest  romance  is  still  to  be  had  in 
London :  and  to  prove  this  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  a  story  that,  upon  my  soul,  Prince,  will 
make  you  sit  up. 

Until  last  night  the  Seely-Hardwickes  were 
a  force  in  this  capital.  They  were  three,  — 
Seely-Hardwicke  himself,  who  owned  a  million 
or  more,  and  to  my  knowledge  drank  Hollands 
and  smoked  threepenny  Eeturns  in  his  Louis 
Quinze  library ;  Mrs.  Seely-Hardwicke,  as  beau- 
tiful as  the  moon  and  clever  to  sinfulness ;  and 
Billy,  their  child,  aged  seven-and-a-half.  To-day 
their  whereabouts  would  be  as  difiicult  to  find 
as  that  of  the  boy  in  Mrs.  Hemans's  ballad. 
You  jump  to  the  guess  that  they  have  lost 
their  money.     You  are  wrong. 


AN  INTERRUPTION.  803 

It  was  amassed  in  the  canned-fruit  trade? 
which,  I  understand,  does  not  fluctuate  severely, 
though  doubtless  in  the  last  instance  dependent 
on  the  crops.  Seely-Hard\vicke  and  his  wife 
were  ready  to  lose  any  amount  of  it  at  cards, 
which  accounts  for  a  measure  of  their  success. 
It  had  been  found  (with  Mrs.  Seely-Hardwicke) 
somewhere  on  the  Pacific  Slope,  by  a  destitute 
Yorkshireman  who  had  tired  of  driving  rivets 
on  the  Clyde  and  betaken  himself  across  the 
Atlantic,  for  a  change,  in  front  of  a  furnace 
some  thirty-odd  feet  below  decks.  Of  his 
adventures  in  the  Great  Republic  nothing  is 
known  but  this,  that  he  drove  into  the  silence 
of  its  central  plain  at  the  tail  of  a  traction 
engine  and  emerged  on  its  western  shore,  three 
years  later,  with  a  wife,  a  child  and  a  growing 
pile.  With  this  pile  there  grew  a  desire  to 
spend  it  in  his  own  country ;  and  the  family 
landed  at  Liverpool  on  Billy's  sixth  birthday. 
I  think  their  double-barrelled  name  must  have 
been  invented  by  Mrs.  Seely-Hardwicke  on  the 
voyage. 

I  first  made  Billy's  acquaintance  in  the  Row, 
where  a  capable  groom  was  teaching  him  to 
ride  a  very  small  skewbald  pony.     This  hap- 


304  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

pened  in  the  week  after  our  Jack  was  bom, 
when  I  was  perforce  companionless :  but  as 
soon  as  Yiolet  could  ride  again,  she  too  fell 
a  victim  to  the  red  curls  and  seraphic  face  of 
this  urchin.  And  so,  when  Billy's  mother 
began,  later  in  the  season,  to  appear  in  the 
Row,  Billy  (now  promoted  to  a  larger  pony) 
introduced  us  in  his  own  fashion  and  we  quickly 
made  friends.  By  this  time  she  had  been 
"presented,"  and  was  fairly  on  her  feet  in 
London  :  and  henceforward  her  career  re- 
sembled not  so  much  a  conquest  as  the  prog- 
ress of  a  Roman  Emperor.  I  am  not  referring 
to  the  vulgar  achievements  of  mere  wealth. 
Wherever  these  people  went,  to  be  sure,  they 
left  outposts  —  a  Mediterranean  villa,  a  deer 
forest  behind  the  Grampians,  small  Saturday- 
to-Monday  establishments  beside  the  Thames 
and  the  North  Sea,  and  furnished  abodes  on 
short  leases  near  NeAvmarket  and  Ascot  Heaths ; 
not  to  mention  nomadic  trifles  such  as  house- 
boats and  yachts.  Any  one  with  money  can 
purchase  these,  and  any  one  having  a  cook  can 
fill  them  ^vith  people  of  a  sort.  The  quality  of 
Mrs.  Seely-Hardwicke's  success  was  seen  in 
this,  that   from  the  first  she  knew  none  but 


AN  INTEBEUPTION.  305 

the  riglit  people:  and  though,  as  her  circle 
widened,  it  included  names  of  higher  and  yet 
higher  lustre,  yet  (if  I  may  press  a  somewhat 
confused  metaphor)  its  rings  were  concentric 
and  hardly  distinct.  She  never,  I  believe,  was 
forced  to  drop  an  old  acquaintance  because 
she  had  found  a  new  one.  The  just  estimate 
of  our  Western  manners  which  you,  my  dear 
Prince,  formed  at  Balliol,  will  enable  you  to 
grasp  the  singularity  of  such  a  triumph.  Its 
rapidity,  I  must  admit,  perplexes  me  still. 
But  in  those  old  days  we  studied  Arnold 
Toynbee  overmuch  and  neglected  the  civilising 
influences  of  the  card-table.  By  the  time  the 
Seely-Hardwickes  took  their  house  near  Hyde 
Park  Corner,  philanthropy  was  beginning  to 
stale  and  our  leaders  to  perceive  that  the 
rejuvenation  of  society  must  be  effected  (if  at 
all)  not  by  bestowing  money  on  the  poor,  but 
by  losing  it  to  the  rich.  Seely-Hardwicke 
himself  was  understood  to  spend  most  of  his 
time  in  the  City,  looking  after  the  interests  of 
canned  fruits  and  making  small  fortunes  out  of 
his  redundant  cash. 

You  will  readily  understand  that   we   soon 
came  to  see  little  of  our  new  acquaintances. 


306  TRE  DELECTABLE  BUCHT. 

A  small  private  income  and  the  trivial  wage 
commanded  by  society  verses  in  this  country 
(so  different  in  many  respects  from  Abyssinia) 
confined  us  to  a  much  narrower  orbit.  But  we 
were  invited  pretty  often  to  their  dinners,  and 
the  notes  I  have  given  you  were  taken  on  these 
occasions.  Last  night  there  were  potentates  at 
Mrs.  Seely-Hardwicke's  —  several  imported,  and 
one  of  British  growth.  To-day  —  but  you  shall 
hear  it  in  the  fewest  words. 

Three  days  back,  Billy  failed  to  turn  up  in 
the  Row.  "We  met  his  mother  riding  alone 
and  asked  the  reason.  She  told  us  the  child 
had  a  cough  and  something  of  a  sore  throat 
and  she  thought  it  wiser  to  keep  him  at  home. 

On  the  next  day,  and  yesterday,  he  was 
still  absent.  In  the  evening  we  went  to  the 
Seely-Hardwicke's  dance.  The  thing  was  won- 
derfully done.  An  exuberant  vegetation  that 
suggested  a  virgin  forest  was  qualified  by  the 
presence  of  several  hundred  people.  It  was 
impossible  to  dance  or  to  feel  lonely ;  and  our 
hostess  looked  radiant  as  the  moon  in  the 
reflected  rays  of  her  success.  We  shook  hands 
with  her  and  were  swallowed  in  the  crowd. 

About  half-an-hour  later,  as  I  watched  the 


AN  INTERBUPTION.  307 

crush  from  a  recess  beside  an'  open  window 
and  listened  to  the  waltz  that  the  band  was 
playing,  Seely-Hardwicke  himself  thrust  his 
way  towards  me.  He  was  crumpled  and  per- 
spiring copiously :  but  the  glory  of  it  all  sat 
on  his  blunt  face  yet  more  openly  than  on  his 
wife's  lovely  features. 

"I've  not  been  here  above  ten  minutes,"  he 
explained.  "  Had  to  run  down  to  Liverpool 
suddenly  last  night,  and  only  reached  King's 
Cross  something  less  'n  an  hour  back.  Quick 
work." 

"  How's  Billy  ? "  I  asked,  after  a  few  com- 
monplace words. 

"  Off  colour,  still.  I  went  up  to  see  him, 
just  now:  but  the  nurse  wouldn't  let  him  be 
disturbed ;  said  he  was  sleepin'.  Best  thing  for 
him.  You'll  see  him  out,  as  lively  as  a  lark, 
to-morrow." 

"  And  getting  stopped,  as  usual,  by  the 
police  for  expounding  his  idea  of  a  canter  in 
the  Ladies'  Mile." 

He  laughed.  "Hey?  I  like  that.  I  like 
spirit.  He  looks  fragile  —  he's  like  his  mother 
for  that — but  they're  game  every  inch,  the 
pair  of  'em.     You  may  think  me  silly,  but  I 


308  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

don't  know  that  I  can  last  out  this  without 
runnin'  up  to  have  a  look  at  him.  I  haven't 
seen  him  for  two  days." 

I  believe  he  was  on  the  point  of  launching 
out  into  any  number  of  fatherly  confidences. 
But  at  this  point  he  was  claimed  by  an 
acquaintance  some  ten  paces  off;  and,  plung- 
ing among  his  guests,  was  lost  to  me. 

I  cannot  teU  you,  my  dear  Prince,  how  much 
time  elapsed  between  this  and  the  arrival  of 
the  home-grown  Potentate  —  as  you  must  allow 
me  to  call  him  until  we  meet  and  I  can  whisper 
his  august  name.  But  I  know  that  shortly 
after  his  arrival,  while  I  still  loafed  in  my  recess 
and  hoped  that  Yiolet  would  soon  drift  in  my 
direction  and  allow  herself  to  be  taken  home, 
the  throng  around  me  began  to  thin  in  a  most 
curious  manner.  How  it  happened  —  whence 
it  started  and  how  it  spread  —  I  cannot  tell 
you.  Only  it  seemed  as  if  something  began 
to  be  whispered,  and  the  whisper  melted  the 
crowd  like  sugar.  Almost  before  I  grew  aware 
of  what  was  happening,  I  could  see  the  far  side 
of  the  room,  and  the  Potentate  there  by  Mrs. 
Seely-Hardwicke's  side  ;  and  could  mark  their 
faces.    His  was  cast  in  a  polite,  but  slightly 


AN  INTERRUPTION.  309 

rigid  smile.  His  eyes  wandered.  That  super- 
numerary sense  which  all  his  family  possesses 
had  warned  him  that  something  was  wrong. 
Mrs.  Seely-Hardwicke's  face  was  white  as 
chalk,  though  her  eyes  returned  his  smile. 

At  this  moment  Violet  came  towards  me. 

"Take  me  home,"  she  commanded,  but 
under  her  breath.     As  she  said  it  she  shivered. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  ? "  I  de- 
manded. 

She  pulled  me  by  the  sleeve.  I  looked  up 
and  saw  a  white-haired  man,  of  military  car- 
riage, walking  towards  His  Royal  Highness. 
He  came  to  a  halt,  a  pace  off,  and  stood  as  if 
anxious  to  speak.  I  saw  also  that  Mrs.  Seely- 
Hardwicke  would  not  allow  him  a  chance,  but 
talked  desperately.  I  saw  groups  of  people, 
up  and  down  the  room,  regarding  her  even  as 
we.     And  then  the  door  was  flung  open. 

Seely-Hardwicke  came  running  in  mth  Billy 
in  his  arms  —  or  rather,  with  Billy's  body. 
The  child  had  died  at  four  that  afternoon,  of 
diphtheria. 

I  got  Yiolet  out  of  the  room  as  soon  as 
I  could.  The  man's  language  was  frightful  — 
filthy.     And  his  wife  straightened  herself  up 


310  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

and  answered  him  back.  It  was  a  babel  of 
obscene  Frisco  curses:  but  I  remember  one 
clear  sentence  of  hers  from  the  din  — 

"  You ,  you !     And  d'ye  think  my  heart 

won't  go  to  pieces  when  my  stays  are  cut?" 

All  the  way  home  Yiolet  kept  sobbing  and 
crying  out  that  she  was  never  driven  so  slowly. 
She  was  convinced  that  some  harm  had  hap- 
pened to  her  own  Jack.  She  ran  up  to  the 
night-nursery  at  once  and  woke  your  god-child 
out  of  a  healthy  sleep.  And  he  arose  in  his 
full  strength  and  yelled. 


II.— THE  GKEAT  FIKE  ON  FKEETHY'S 
QUAY. 

From  "^." 

Troy  Town. 

New  Year's  Eve,  1892. 

My  Deak  Peince,  — The  New  Year  is  upon 
us,  a  season  which  the  devout  Briton  sets  aside 
for  taking  stock  of  his  short-comings,  I  know 
not  if  Prester  John  introduced  this  custom 
among  the  Abyssinians:  but  we  find  it  very 
convenient  here. 

In  particular  I  have  been  vexing  myself 
to-day  over  the  gradual  desuetude  of  our  cor- 
respondence. Doubtless  the  fault  is  mine :  and 
doubtless  I  compare  very  poorly  with  Dexter, 
whose  letters  are  bound  to  be  bright  and  fre- 
quent. But  Dexter  clings  to  London;  and 
from  London,  as  from  your  own  Africa,  semper 
aliquid  novi.  But  of  Troy  during  these  twelve 
months  there  has  been  little  or  nothing  to 
delate.     The  small  port  has  been  enjoying  a 

311 


312  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

period  of  quiet  which  even  the  General  Election, 
last  summer,  did  not  seriously  disturb.  As  you 
know,  the  election  turned  on  the  size  of  mesh 
proper  to  be  used  in  the  drift-net  fishery.  We 
wore  favours  of  red,  white  and  blue,  symbol- 
ising our  hatred  of  the  mesh  favoured  by  Mr. 
Gladstone;  and  carried  our  man.  Had  other 
constituencies  as  sternly  declined  to  fritter 
away  their  voting  strength  upon  side  issues, 
Lord  Salisbury  would  now  be  in  power  with 
a  solid  majority  at  his  back. 

My  purpose,  however,  is  not  to  talk  of  poli- 
tics, but  to  give  you  a  short  description  of  an 
event  which  has  greatly  excited  us,  and  re- 
deemed from  monotony  (though  at  the  eleventh 
hour)  the  year  Eighteen  ninety-two.  I  refer  to 
the  great  fire  on  Freethy's  Quay,  where  Mr. 
Wm.  Freethy  has  of  late  been  improving  his 
timber-store  with  a  number  of  the  newest 
mechanical  inventions;  among  others,  with  a 
steam  engine  which  operates  on  a  circular  saw, 
and  impels  it  to  cut  up  oak  poles  (our  winter 
fuel)  with  incredible  rapidity.  It  was  here 
that  the  outbreak  occurred,  on  Christmas  Eve 
—  of  all  days  in  the  year  — between  five  and  six 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 


FIBE  ON  FREETHY'8  QUAY.  313 

But  I  should  first  tell  you  that  our  town 
has  enjoyed  a  long  immunity  from  fires;  and 
although  we  possess  a  Volunteer  Fire  Brigade, 
at  once  efficient  and  obliging,  and  commanded 
by  Mr.  Patrick  Sullivan  (an  Irishman),  the 
men  have  had  little  or  no  opportunity  of 
combating  their  sworn  foe.  The  Brigade  was 
founded  in  the  early  autumn  of  1873,  and 
presented  by  public  subscription  with  a  hand- 
some manual  engine  and  a  wooden  house  to 
contain  it.  This  house,  painted  a  bright  ver- 
milion, is  a  conspicuous  object  at  the  top  of 
the  hill  above  the  town,  as  you  turn  off  towards 
the  Kope-walk.  The  firemen,  of  course,  wear 
an  appropriate  uniform,  with  brazen  helmets 
and  shoulder-straps  and  a  neat  axe  apiece, 
suspended  in  a  leathern  case  from  the  waist- 
band. But  the  spirit  of  make-believe  has  of 
necessity  animated  all  their  public  exercise, 
if  I  except  the  13th  of  April,  1879,  when  a  fire 
broke  out  in  the  back  premises  of  Mr.  Tippett, 
carpenter.  His  shop  was  (and  is)  situated  in 
the  middle  of  the  town,  and  in  those  days  a 
narrow  gatehouse  gave,  or  rather  prevented, 
access  to  the  town  on  either  side.  These 
houses  stood,  one  at  the  extremity  of  North 


314  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

Street,  beside  the  Ferry  Slip,  the  other  at  the 
south  end  of  the  Fore  Street,  where  it  turns 
the  corner  by  the  Ship  Inn  and  mounts  Lost- 
withiel  Hill.  With  their  low-browed  arches, 
each  surmounted  by  a  little  chamber  for  the 
toll-keeper,  they  recalled  in  an  interesting 
manner  the  days  when  local  traffic  was  carried 
on  solely  by  means  of  pack-horses ;  but  by  an 
unfortunate  oversight  their  straitness  had  been 
left  out  of  account  by  the  donors  of  the  fire- 
engine,  which  stuck  firmly  in  the  passage  below 
Lostwithiel  Hill  and  could  be  drawn  neither 
forwards  nor  back,  thus  robbing  the  Brigade 
of  the  result  of  six  years'  practice.  For  the 
engine  filled  up  so  much  of  the  thoroughfare 
that  the  men  could  neither  climb  over  nor 
round  it,  but  were  forced  to  enter  the  town 
by  a  circuitous  route  and  find,  to  their  chagrin, 
Mr.  Tippett's  premises  completely  gutted.  For 
three  days  all  our  traffic  entered  and  left  the 
town  perforce  by  the  north  side ;  but  two  years 
after,  on  the  completion  of  the  railway  line  to 
Troy,  these  obstructive  gatehouses  were  re- 
moved, to  give  passage  to  the  new  Omnibus. 

Let  me  proceed  to  the  story  of  our  more  recent 
alarm.    At  twenty  minutes  to  five,  precisely, 


FIBE  ON  FBEETHY'S  QUAY.  315 

on  Christmas  Eve,  Mr.  Wm.  Freethy  left  his 
engine-room  by  the  door  which  opens  on  the 
Quay;  tmned  the  key,  which  he  immediately 
pocketed ;  and  proceeded  towards  his  mother's 
house,  at  the  western  end  of  the  town,  where 
he  invariably  takes  tea.  The  wind  was  blowing 
strongly  from  the  east,  where  it  had  been  fixed 
for  three  days,  and  the  thermometer  stood  at 
six  degrees  below  freezing.  Indeed,  I  had 
remarked,  early  in  the  morning,  that  an  icicle 
of  quite  respectable  length  (for  a  small  provin- 
cial town,  depended  from  the  public  water-tap 
under  the  Methodist  Chapel.  About  twenty 
minutes  after  Mr.  Freethy's  departure,  some 
children,  who  were  playing  about  the  Quay, 
observed  dense  volumes  of  smoke  (as  they 
thought)  issuing  from  under  the  engine-room 
door.  They  gave  the  alarm.  I  happened  to  be 
in  the  street  at  the  time,  purchasing  muscatels 
for  the  Christmas  snap-dragon,  and,  after  rush- 
ing up  to  the  Quay  to  satisfy  myself,  proceeded 
with  all  haste  to  Mr.  Sullivan,  Captain  of  the 
Brigade. 

I  found  him  at  tea,  but  behaving  in  a  some- 
what extraordinary  manner.  It  is  well  known 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sullivan  suffer  occasionally 


316  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

from  domestic  disagreement,  due,  in  great  meas- 
ure, to  the  lady's  temper.  Mr.  Sullivan  was 
sitting  at  the  table  with  a  saucer  inverted  upon 
his  head,  a  quantity  of  tea-leaves  matted  in 
his  iron-grey  hair,  and  their  juice  trickling 
down  his  face.  On  hearing  my  alarming  intel- 
ligence, he  said : 

"I  had  meant  to  sit  there  for  some  time; 
indeed,  until  my  little  boy  returns  with  the 
Vicar,  whom  I  have  sent  for  to  witness  the 
effects  of  my  wife's  temper.  I  was  sitting  down 
to  tea  when  I  heard  a  voice  in  the  street  calling 
'  Whiting ! '  —  a  fish  of  which  I  am  extremely 
fond  —  and  ran  out  to  procure  three-penny 
worth.  On  my  return,  my  wife  here  —  I  sup- 
pose, because  she  objects  to  clean  the  fish  — 
assaulted  me  in  the  manner  you  behold." 

With  praiseworthy  public  spirit,  however, 
Mr.  Sullivan  forewent  his  revenge,  and,  having 
cleansed  his  hair,  ran  with  all  speed  to  get  out 
the  fire-engine. 

Returning  to  the  Quay,  at  about  6  p.m.,  I 
found  a  large  crowd  assembled  before  the 
engine-room  door,  from  which  the  vapour  was 
pouring  in  dense  clouds.  The  Brigade  came 
rattling  up  with  their  manual  in  less  than  ten 


FIBE  ON  FBEETHY'S  QUAY.  317 

minutes.  As  luck  would  have  it,  this  was  just 
the  hour  when  the  mummers,  guise  dancers 
and  darkey-parties  were  dressing  up  for  their 
Christmas  rounds;  and  the  appearance  pre- 
sented by  the  crowd  in  the  deepening  dusk 
would,  in  less  serious  circumstances,  have  been 
extremely  diverting.  Two  of  the  firemen  wore 
large  moustaches  of  burnt  cork  beneath  their 
helmets,  and  another  (who  was  cast  to  play  the 
Turkish  Knight)  had  found  no  time  to  remove 
the  bright  blue  dye  he  had  been  applying  to 
his  face.  The  pumpmaker  had  come  as  Father 
Christmas,  jand  the  blacksmith  (who  was  forc- 
ing the  door)  looked  oddly  in  an  immense  white 
hat,  a  flapping  collar  and  a  suit  of  pink  chintz 
with  white  bone  buttons.  He  had  not  accom- 
plished his  purpose  when  I  heard  a  shout,  and, 
looking  up  the  street,  saw  Mr.  "Wm.  Freethy 
approaching  at  a  brisk  run.  He  is  forty-three 
years  old,  and  his  figure  inclines  to  rotundity. 
The  wind,  still  in  the  east,  combined  with  the 
velocity  of  his  approach  to  hold  his  coat-tails 
in  a  line  steadily  horizontal.  In  his  right  hand 
he  carried  a  large  sHce  of  his  mother's  home- 
made bread,  spread  with  yellow  plum  jam ;  a 
semicircular  excision  of   the   crumb    made  it 


318  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHT. 

plain  that  he  had  been  disturbed  in  his  first 
mouthful.  The  crowd  parted  and  he  advanced 
to  the  door;  laid  his  slice  of  bread  and  Jam 
upon  the  threshold ;  searched  in  his  fob  pocket 
for  the  key ;  produced  it ;  turned  it  in  the  lock ; 
picked  up  his  bread  and  jam  again ;  opened 
the  door;  took  a  bite;  and  plunged  into  the 
choking  clouds  that  immediately  enveloped  his 
person. 

While  the  concourse  vraited,  in  absolute 
silence,  the  atmosphere  of  the  engine-house 
cleared  as  if  by  magic,  and  Mr.  Wm.  Freethy 
was  visible  again  in  the  converging  rays  of  six 
buU's-eye  lanterns  held  forward  by  six  members 
of  the  Fire  Brigade.  One  hand  still  held  the 
bread  and  jam ;  the  other  grasped  a  stop-cock 
which  he  had  that  instant  turned,  shutting  off 
the  outpour  of  steam  we  had  taken  for  smoke. 
Some  one  tittered ;  but  the  general  laugh  was 
prevented  by  a  resounding  splash.  The  recoil- 
ing crowd  had  backed  against  the  fire-engine 
outside,  and  inadvertently  thrust  it  over  the 
Quay's  edge  into  two  fathoms  of  water ! 

We  left  it  there  till  the  tide  should  turn,  and 
forming  into  procession,  marched  back  through 
the  streets.    I  never  witnessed  greater  enthu- 


FIRE  ON  FBEETHT'S  QUAY.  319 

siasm.  I  do  not  believe  Troy  iield  a  man, 
woman,  or  child  that  did  not  turn  out  of  doors 
to  cheer  and  laugh.  Presently  a  verse  sprang 
up:  — 

"  ITie  smoke  came  out  at  Freeihy^s  door, 
An^  down  came  Sulli/van  with  his  corps. 
^  My  dea/rs^  sa/ys  Freethy,  ^  donH  ''eejpoy/r! 
For  the  smoTce  he  steam  a/rS  noth'M  more  — 
But  what  ha/o'  ^ee  done  wi^  the  Fn-gine  f '  " 

And  the  firemen,  by  shouting  it  as  heartily  as 
the  rest,  robbed  the  epigram  of  all  its  sting. 

But  the  best  of  it,  my  dear  Prince,  was  still 
to  come.  For  at  half-past  eight  (that  being 
the  time  of  low  water)  a  salvage  corps  assembled 
and  managed  to  drag  the  engine  ashore  by 
means  of  stout  tackle  hitched  round  the  granite 
pedestal  that  stands  on  Freethy's  Quay  to  com- 
memorate the  visit  of  Queen  Victoria  and 
Prince  Albert,  who  landed  there  on  the  8th 
of  September,  1846.  The  guise-dancers  paraded 
it  through  the  streets  until  midnight,  when 
they  gave  it  over  to  the  carollers,  who  fed  it 
with  buckets;  and  as  the  poor  machine  was 
but  little  damaged,  brisk  jets  of  water  were 
made  to  salute  the  citizens'  windows  simulta- 


820  THE  DELECTABLE  DUCHY. 

neously  with  the  season's  holy  songs.  I,  who 
have  a  habit  of  sleeping  with  my  window  open, 
received  an  icy  shower-bath  with  the  opening 
verse  of  "  Christians,  awake !  Salute  the  Happy 
Morn.  .  .  ." 

On  Saturday  next  the  Brigade  assembles  for 
a  Grand  Salvage  Banquet  in  the  Town  Hall. 
There  will  be  speeches.  Accept,  my  dear  Prince, 
all  possible  good  wishes  for  the  New  Year.  .  .  . 


NOVELS  AND  STORIES  BY  "Q" 

(A.  T.  QUILLER-COUCH) 


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Late   Majesty   King   Charles   L,  in    the    years 

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Sketches       . 1.25 

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Adventures  in  Criticism 1.25 

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COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

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Library 

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